Murder on Marietta Street
by Ondine03
Summary: A GWTW murder mystery, set post-canon. The story begins in April of 1874. Rhett returns to Atlanta, and someone is shot. And then ...well, read and find out.
1. Interlude

_A/N: This story commences in April of 1874, roughly seven months after Melly's death and Rhett's departure. It will be, first and foremost, a GWTW "murder mystery" although we will not get to the actual murder for a few chapters. Since the initial time-line is very similar to Helen's well-researched "Six Month Later" some of the same historical events in Atlanta will be covered in this story and I apologize in advance for any redundancy (although I place the unveiling of the Memorial for the Confederate Soldiers by the Ladies' Memorial Association in April 1874) Also, I personally have Bonnie's death happen in June and her birthday in July)._

_All historical events are as accurate as I could make them, including the financial crash of September of 1873, which is bound to have affected our favourite heroine. (I am grateful for anyone more familiar with either the place or the time-line who spots a mistake, either now or as I go along, and lets me know about it.) All historical figures, on the other hand, are used in a way to further my plot and suit my fancy, and have never in real life run into Scarlett or Rhett, or done or said some of the things I attribute to them._

_Also, the historical street maps of Atlanta are a real challenge to me, and I finally made two circles, one on Peachtree Street/Harris Street and one on Marietta Street by the Railroad, and that is where the Butler Mansion and Belle Watling's establishment will be for the purpose of this story._

_And finally, the characters are owned by the estate of Margaret Mitchell, Alexandra Ripley and Donald McCaig and not by me. I only play with them for my amusement and will give - most of them - back undamaged. ;-)_

_Whew. Longest A/N ever. And now we start!_

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The well-dressed woman who stepped off the mule-drawn streetcar onto Peachtree Street with her maid in the early hours of the morning was no longer quite in the first flush of youth, but this was apparent to none of the men whose eyes fell on her almost as soon as she had finished her descent. Her shape in the black walking-dress was still slim and elegant, her pale green eyes as arresting as ever, and her dark locks still a silky untamable mass escaping from the loose knot at the back of her head. The road beneath her mud-spattered shoes was now free of refuse and garbage as per city ordinance, but still as unpaved as before the War and soggy with last night's rain.

The young clerks and apprentices who filled the streets at this hour on their way to their workplaces craned their necks as she passed by, and one of them, the assistant to a milliner on Marietta Street, let out a low wolf-whistle. The object of his interest did not pause in her stride, or even seemed to notice his attention, an omission which, had he only known it, was almost unheard of in the twenty-nine-year old life of Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler.

Hers was an arresting figure, even sedately attired in the somber hues of mourning, her face rescued from conventional beauty by the fierce determination in her eyes and the stubborn set of her jaw. She had descended from the street-car in the company of her black maid, who was holding a bag with the morning's purchases and sported a purposeful expression of constant befuddlement. The young black woman was clearly in the later stages of pregnancy and struggled to keep up with her employer's brisk pace.

After taking a few steps Scarlett stopped briefly to hook up her skirts, carefully making her way through the puddles to the other side of the road. The torrential rainfall of the previous evening had pushed back the humidity already threatening the April mornings, and the air was for once fresh and crisp. She took a deep breath, enjoying the relative peace and solitude before the bustle of the city began in earnest. She was comfortably familiar with the sights and the sounds, as her restlessness and her persistent cough now often drove her out of bed before sunrise. It was only a few more steps to her house at the corner of Peachtree and Harris Street, now called house number sixty-two, the house Rhett had built for her according to her specifications but which her eyes had long ceased to take in.

She walked up the large stairs to the front door and only now did her stride falter as she contemplated the day ahead of her. Prissy, her young maid, almost bumped her rapidly expanding midsection into her back. "Ah's sorry, Miss Scarlett," Prissy said in her irritatingly high soprano. Scarlett made an impatient gesture, but her mind was occupied with more weighty matters. She grabbed the mail from the mail-box and was delighted to finally receive the April edition of Godey's Ladies' Book, the monthly fashion magazine, which always arrived late here in the South. Then she opened the large oak door and walked through the large and ornate entry-hall into the parlor.

Her estranged husband had, with his usual impeccable timing, left her just before the Financial Panic of the fall of 1873 threatened both her fortune and her livelihood. To his credit, he had returned only a few weeks later, from wherever his self-proclaimed quest for peace and serenity had lead him - to oversee her finances and ensure that her store did not suffer a cash-flow problem; when banks, in response to the ripple-effect the failure of the Northern Pacific Railway company had caused, started to freeze mortgages and pull back loans.

Scarlett had been frantic before his arrival, despite the fact that her store was unencumbered and she had comfortable financial reserves from the sale of her mills to cover any short-term lull in business. They had gone over her books for several days into the dark hours of the night, Rhett speaking to her with the same polite reserve that she imagined he had for any male business associate. "Anticipate a few years of diminished returns before things return to normal'', he had told her, and the last few months had done nothing to prove him wrong. They were in the middle of what was most likely going to be an extended recession.

It had been odd, this pseudo-intimacy the events had thrown them into so soon after their dramatic separation. Although she could not help her eyes from lightning up at the sight of him, her monetary worries were acute enough to keep her mind firmly on their business. At night, they merely bid each other good-night at the top of the stairs and went down the hall-way in opposite directions to their separate rooms. Strangely, she found both his presence and his attitude comforting rather than insulting – seduction not being in the forefront of even her mind when faced with the fear of financial ruin. Having assured himself that her affairs were in order, he had left again for God knew where – Charleston, Europe, it was hard to say.

She had continued with life with her grim determination firmly in place. With business stalling and real estate values plunging all around her, she threw herself into her work with fervor, suffering yet another set-back when her store manager, Hugh Elsing, suffered several compound fractures after slipping off a boulder during a pleasure hike to the Ponce-de-Leon Springs with his wife and sister. Only the skills of a Boston-trained surgeon Scarlett had unearthed through her former Yankee connections had saved his leg, and even so he was facing months of convalescence.

As firing him on the spot would have been inauspicious for her goal of reintegrating herself with the Old Guard she had refrained from the impulse (but with difficulty), instead continuing to pay him a salary through gritted teeth and hiring an assistant manager, a surprisingly young, surprisingly handsome Savannah native by the name of Thomas Whiting; whom she had chosen mainly because of his admirable head for figures and also, if she was honest with herself, because his slow drawl reminded her of Rhett.

Rhett had returned again for Christmas, much to the delight of seven year old Ella and eleven year old Wade. Scarlett, by that time, had little hope that he would stay long, and thus was not greatly surprised when he left again only a few days after New Year's Eve. He had remained for the "Mardi Gras" celebrations on January 6th after she had argued (with what she hoped was impeccable diffidence) that they should go to quell rumors of their separation. "It's a Carnival", Rhett had answered with a gleam of humor. "No one will know who we are."

"But at midnight everyone takes of their masks," she had retorted. He had laughed, but allowed himself to be persuaded. They had spent an almost enjoyable evening in the Streets of Atlanta, watching the revelers, the bonfires and the fireworks and the parades. "King Rex" and his chariot paraded the streets. The crowd had numbered thousands, and Scarlett at least had the satisfaction that plenty of people she knew had seen them out and about together.

Unfortunately, that was the only satisfaction the event had afforded her, because her husband seemed as impervious to her elegant black dress and her "Queen of Spades" costume as he had to any of the pretty things she had tried to wear for him since he left. Of course, she thought gloomily, being limited to black was not helping, especially as he had always disliked her in that color. He had been courteous and kind, lending her his arm and even lifting her if needed as they walked through the city's tough mud, as courteous and kind as one would be to a sister. Physically, he had looked better by Christmas, his face no longer as blurred by excessive drinking and his body regaining some of its old strength, but his friendly but impersonal attitude was unchanged from October, or even from September when he had told her he felt only kindness and pity for her and nothing more. When she commented on his changed looks, he had said "the sea air" but nothing more, leaving her to wonder if he had gone anywhere else but Charleston and if not, why he had stayed. She was grateful for the camaraderie and the support but was painfully conscious of the absence of something she had always unconsciously relied on, something that she could only define of the absence of Rhett's love.

After he left again she had heard nothing from him for a few months, and had finally written care of his mother that the Ladies' Memorial Association was finally unveiling the new monument for the Glorious Fallen of the Confederacy on the newly-declared Confederate Memorial Day, April 26h, and that his presence was most urgently required.

It had been a cautious letter that she had taken an inordinate amount of time writing, discarding twenty-one versions before finally sending number twenty-two.

"Dear Rhett," it had read, "I would like to invite you to come to Atlanta on April the 26th to be present for the unveiling of the Monument of the Ladies' Memorial Association. Everybody will be there. It'll be at 3 pm at Oakland Cemetary. I am sorry to ask you but it would really help if you came. Scarlett."

He had wired that he would return today, on April 25th, one day before the unveiling. She had had his room prepared, grateful that he had overcome what she felt sure was his revulsion for setting foot at Oakland Cemetery on April 26th or on any other day. To the best of her knowledge, he had never visited their daughter's grave since the funeral.

When he had left her in September, she had been filled with incoherent determination to win back his affections, and had gone to Tara to recuperate for a brief time until the crisis called her back to Atlanta. She had considered, and discarded, the idea of following him to Charleston – she had not been the Belle of Five Counties without understanding that throwing yourself at a man who did not want you was unlikely to yield positive results. Besides, she had not even known for certain where he was, and appearing on his mother's doorstep when he was really in Paris or Rome would have looked suspicious. No, she reasoned, she would go on with life, look more beautiful than ever, and regain her position with the Old Guard, and when he inevitably came back he would see her surrounded by friends, by her children, and then he would not be able to help falling in love with her again!

Reality, and not just in the shape of the market crash, had rubbed some of the glamour off those plans. Her children, after years of alternating neglect and verbal abuse, were disinclined to sit quietly by her feet gazing lovingly up at her as she had envisioned. She tried spending time with them, but her business and Ashley's business took up most of her energy. While her store was in order, Ashley's mill was not, and not for the first time did she wish she could give Rhett those ledgers as well to see if anything could be salvaged. Of course she never could, and her promise to Melly added her concern for Ashley's and Beau's financial survival to her already overflowing cup. She was grateful, as she had never consciously been, for the sense of security Rhett had imparted her, not only during this crisis but throughout her marriage. She would not starve for food again, and neither would her children, and that was singularly comforting.

She also discovered that while her many duties kept her adequately distracted during the day her nights were becoming more and more uncomfortable - sleepless nights filled with regrets that her unquiet brain refused to put off until tomorrow. So many things she wished she could do differently if only she had a chance! If only she had realized she was not in love with Ashley much sooner. If only she had not banned Rhett from her room. If only she had found a way to reach out to him on the morning after Ashley's party. If only she had not lunged at him on top of the stairs when he returned with Bonnie and she had kept the baby. If only someone had let him know she was calling for him when she was ill. If only Bonnie hadn't died. If only Melly was still here to comfort her and give her sage advice. If only Rhett had told her he loved her when he still did. And round and round her thoughts went without ending. In addition, the persistent cough she had developed over Christmas had still not gone away. The brief hours of rest were often filled with nightmares, filled with the same old fears – feeling lost, helpless, and reaching out for a haven which receded into the mist.

Breakfast had already been set in the dining room. She took her breakfast standing, trying to force herself to eat something. It would not help her cause if she became any thinner than she already was. Everything she could think of was in order, and she had told James, Prissy's husband, to pick up Rhett from the train station at 5 pm.

Prissy had married James quite suddenly in late September, probably, Scarlett thought wryly, because she was already pregnant at the time. Dilcey, Prissy's mother, had disapproved of the marriage in the way only a mother could, but the young people were determined, and seemed quite happy and looking forward to the birth of their first child. Scarlett often caught herself envying the looks they exchanged when in each other's company – they were so young and cheerful and in love, and so happy, in a way she and Rhett had never been. She smiled wryly. She, Scarlett O'Hara, envious of Prissy.

She finally sat down at the table, leafing through her magazine with nerveless hands, not looking forward to a long day of trying not to think about Rhett.


	2. The Kindness of Strangers

_Thank you for the reviews, I enjoyed reading each and every one, including those that felt it could have used more dialogue and less history (which I actually agree with!). I hope I have my chess pieces where I want them, and the next few chapters will contain a lot of dialogue. The woman salesperson mentioned in the story actually existed, the background story apparently is true. The "Atlanta Constitution" was the major daily paper of the era. The roller skating ring, the Springs, and the public schools all exist in 1874 - as for the "Girl of the Period" Saloon, I give that a solid "maybe" because I could find nothing on it after the war. Perhaps it was still operational, perhaps not. Here, it is._

_Disclaimer: as in the first chapter._

* * *

_"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."– Blanche Dubois in "A Streetcar Named Desire" by Tennessee Williams_

Prissy brought Wade and Ella down from the nursery shortly afterwards. Wade smiled shyly at his mother as he slid into his seat at the table. Despite the fact that Scarlett was always busy her awkward attempts at fostering a closer connection with her children had not been entirely fruitless - they had gone out for a picnic to the Springs a few times, and she had taken them to the roller-skating ring on the corner of Forsyth Street, much to Ella's delight, who had shown a real aptitude for the sport. In fact, it had astonished Scarlett that Ella, her silly child, who took hours to get through one story and had the attention span of a sparrow, could be so … graceful.

She cut Ella's pancakes and, for the millionth time, wondered if she should send them into one of the newly opened private schools in the neighborhood that she was always receiving flyers in the mail for. Atlanta even boasted a public school system these days, but she was not about to send any of her children, with their Robilliard blood! to school with poor people who couldn't afford a better school, or a tutor.

"Uncle Rhett is coming today," Wade said, lifting the end of the sentence slightly so it came out halfway between a statement and a question. Aside from Scarlett herself, Wade had struggled most with Rhett's departure and was always elated when he returned - and deeply crushed when he left again.

"Yes," Scarlett replied firmly, "Uncle Rhett is coming."

At half past five the carriage drew up in front of the house, and a few minutes later James opened the door, carrying a suitcase, closely followed by the man in question. He looked well, dressed in a white shirt and a brown waist-coat over dark gray trousers, his skin darkened by the spring sun and his body almost as lean and hard as it had been when she had first seen him at the Barbeque at Twelve Oaks. He had been working outside, she thought, perhaps at the family plantation he had mentioned, the plantation that she had never seen. Only his eyes were the same as they had been in September, empty dark eyes that looked at her, and indeed at life, with impartial solicitude and nothing more. Embarrassed and mortified by the heat on her face she tucked her chin against her chest, unaware how well the tender look in her eyes and the flush to her cheeks became her.

"Hello, Rhett," she said quietly, trying helplessly to accept that she would always be as incapable of hiding her true emotions as a five-year old child. "I'm glad to see you."

"Hello, Scarlett", he answered quietly. With his love had gone the acerbic comments, the jibes, and the witty remarks that had exasperated her, challenged her, and, towards the end of their marriage, only wounded her. She didn't really miss them, but she missed the spark in him that had provoked them, and the keen interest in her they had covered.

Wade and Ella, who had been waiting in the background, now stormed forward, and Ella dropped herself to the floor, clutching onto one of his legs. "You never get to go away again Uncle Rhett", Ella declared. "I've CAUGHT you and you're STAYING." Wade was slightly more hesitant, his adoration already starting to mingle with resentment. He had been left one too many times already.

"If you don't let me go I can't get you your present from the bag," Rhett said reasonably to the small pink face turned up at him from the floor. Ella let go at once and got up, dancing around him in excitement. When he had produced a porcelain doll for herself and a sturdy wooden sword with a silver handle for Wade, she piped, after cooing over it extensively: "And what did you get for Mommy?"

Scarlett flushed an even deeper red, certain he had brought nothing for her. She was therefore surprised, and somewhat elated, when he chuckled. "Can't forget Mommy, can we?" He dug into the depth of his bag and held out a large square package to her.

'Thank you," she said as she accepted it. With an effort, she squashed the sudden surge of hope in her chest. He had done it because he anticipated the children would wonder, not because he cared about pleasing her. She carefully opened the wrapping, and was surprised to find a good amount of dark green cloth inside, enough to make several dresses.

"Have them made up and wear them around the house, at least when I'm here," he said. At her surprised expression he added softly, "I can't bear the black anymore."

She thought she understood then. She, too, found every glance in the mirror a fresh reminder of her losses. In an effort to lighten the mood, she said quickly, "I'll go have them made as soon as possible. Did you know I found out Mr. Regenstein's dry goods store actually employs a woman salesperson! Her name is Martha Owens, and she told me she came to Atlanta to nurse her husband who was a soldier, and when he died she had to look for work, and Mr. Regenstein was the only person that would employ her! And now she's….."

She could tell he was no longer listening to her rambling, and stopped herself with an effort. "Children," she called instead, "let Uncle Rhett go to his room to settle in and we'll all have dinner together in a little bit." Wade and Ella both briefly wore mulish expressions, but seeing the look on her face, they dutifully left to play with their new toys.

James had already gone upstairs with Rhett's luggage, and she found herself uncomfortably alone with her husband. The silence between them stretched, and she felt herself flushing again as he looked at her. "I hope you had a pleasant trip," she said finally, just to say something. A sudden bout of coughing shook her and prevented her from saying anything further.

He nodded, still holding her in his disconcerting gaze. "You look pale, Scarlett. You have rings under your eyes. And I see you've still not shaken that cough you had around Christmas."

She grimaced. So much for him finding her irresistibly attractive. "I'm fine," she said rather brusquely, trying to hide her disappointment. "I've just been very busy."

"Unrequited love not agreeing with you, my pet?" he said, with the ghost of the ghost of his old taunting smile.

The man was a cad, and would always be a cad! "Not really, no," she answered, her voice laced with layers of false sweetness. "Did it agree with you?"

He almost laughed. "Touche, my dear." He made a graceful half-bow, with all of his old agility.

She turned abruptly, and then sighed. "I don't want to argue anymore Rhett. It's been hard enough with the store, and business being so poor, and …"

"How is the new manager working out?", he asked.

"Thomas? Oh, very well! He's rearranged the entire merchandise and he's implemented the system you suggested by which we can track what sells best, and he's very popular with the customers. We're still not making a big profit but at least we're not losing too much either."

"So if not your store, what is it that you are so concerned about?" She looked away, unwilling to risk his ire by answering.

"But of course" he said lightly. "What about the estimable Mr. Wilkes and his situation has being preying on your mind? Is he struggling with the mills in this recession?"

She was irritated that he could still read her like a book after all this time, but the temptation to unburden herself was too great. "Oh yes Rhett," she said frankly. "I don't know how much longer he'll be able to pay his salaries. The only people that are making a go of it are the larger conglomerates and they have been buying up mills left and right. And Ashley is so helpless he would almost deserve to go under if I hadn't promised Melly I would look after him and Beau. It's been driving me to distraction. I was even thinking…." Her voice trailed off.

"Of letting me look at his books?" Rhett drawled. "I doubt he would appreciate my input, Scarlett, although I am touched by your faith in my business acumen. However, have you considered it might be to his benefit to sell to a conglomerate now, before the situation becomes even more desperate? Ashley was never cut out to run a business, and lumber mills are particularly vulnerable in a recession where no one is building. Even much more experienced managers than he are folding. He could use the proceeds to take a salaried position somewhere – a newspaper, for example. I have connections to the _Atlanta Constitution_ – the chief editor is a friend of mine. If you like, I will enquire if they would take Ashley Wilkes if he applied." At her concerned frown he added, "He would never have to know what strings were pulled on his behalf."

Scarlett considered this, and after a few minutes, nodded slowly. "I think you're right Rhett. That is a good plan." Ashley was good at writing, she thought, he would enjoy not have to worry about figures and making customers pay the bill. It was perfect. She turned her brilliant green eyes on her husband and smiled warmly, her former irritation forgotten. "Thank you."

He shook his head. "So pliable, and so full of reason. If only you had looked at me like that ten years ago, or even five years ago, when it still would have made a difference." With that, he turned, and proceeded up the staircase.

Scarlett stared at his retreating back, silently fuming. Only he could be so nice one minute, and then suddenly turn so nasty! He had been so polite during his last few stays, did this mean that he planned to humiliate her again, like he had done during the last years of their marriage? Well, in that case he was welcome to stay in away entirely and never come back! She impotently wished she were sixteen again with a vase within her reach. What was worst, she feared that he had not been trying to be nasty at all. That he was simply being honest with her. And that thought was unbearable.

They all assembled for dinner half an hour later, and Rhett was at his most urbane, mostly directing his conversation at the children, and when he did speak to her, he was as indifferently polite as ever. Scarlett realized that trying to understand his moods would remain futile, and she concentrated on the thought that he was here, that the children were enjoying themselves for once and he would soon see her in a green dress! Green had always been and always would be her best color. Had he brought her green because he remembered how well she looked in it? She dimpled at the thought, the first pleasurable thought she had had in months.

"Mother!" Wade called. "I'm _talking_ to you!"

She flushed, irritated that she had lost track of the conversation, and she had the disconcerting notion that Rhett had caught the expression on her face and knew exactly what it meant. "What were you saying, dear?"

"Uh….." Wade stuttered, but stopped speaking. Being called "dear" by his mother in that tone of voice never boded well.

"He asked if we could go to the Springs with Uncle Rhett," Ella piped in enthusiastically. "We could all go! Tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow we go to the unveiling of the monument," Scarlett said. "We won't have time."

"How about the day after?" Ella asked. "You have to see it Uncle Rhett there is a BRIDGE and the streetcar goes on and on and it's HIGH and you can look all around and around…"

"Ella," Scarlett chided. "We don't know how long your Uncle Rhett is staying, and he might be very busy while he's here." There, she thought, now he could explain to the children when he was leaving again.

"Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked hopefully.

He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "We'll see, Ella. Perhaps we can go one of these days if the weather cooperates."

Ella was satisfied with that, and the rest of the meal proceeded without interruption.

Afterwards, Prissy had taken the children back into the nursery to give them their bath and prepare them for bed. Scarlett read Ella a story and talked for a while with Wade before returning downstairs. This was another nighttime ritual she had recently established, one that all three of them had come to enjoy. This time, she wrapped it up rather quickly, kissing them both on the cheek and turning off the lamps when she left the room.

She stopped by her own room and changed her black dress for a dark blue one – it was not her most attractive dress, but it was the only one that would currently fit her. She had bought it from a catalogue several years ago and it had come a size to small. She had never bothered to return it. Now, with all the weight she had recently lost, it would probably fit just fine.

She sighed. There was no use worrying about it. It would just have to do.

Rhett was in the drawing room when she came downstairs, holding a glass of wine. His eyes took her in, and he nodded. "Better." In truth, it looked nicer on her than she had thought it would, and that knowledge gave her battered confidence a much needed boost.

"Will you be going out tonight?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. Seeing her crestfallen look, he added with a slow smirk: "Unless you are offering better entertainment."

She lifted her chin. "Perhaps I am." He would not disconcert her so easily.

He laughed. "It's almost tempting to call your bluff, my dear, just to see you fold when you are actually asked to perform."

She looked at him wrathfully. "I'm not bluffing Rhett. And I honestly don't know why you _do_ this! It's not like you don't have all the time in the world, and all of the rest of the world, to see your whores in! Why must you do it here, in front of me, in front of the children? How do you think it's going to look if all of Atlanta knows you come back only to see …..to see that creature! On your first evening home?" She hated herself for the tears that were starting to fill her eyes.

He was silent for a moment. "I am meeting Henry Hamilton and his poker circle at the Girl of the Period Saloon for drinks and cards, Scarlett. I'm not anticipating it will be particularly racy, unless Henry has turned over a very new leaf since we last met."

"Oh," she said, feeling foolish, but also incredibly relieved.

"Oh," he mocked, though not unkindly. "I'll be the first to acknowledge I wasn't exactly a model husband during the later part of our marriage but you will grant me that I was not without ….provocation to act out. What possible motivation could I have now to consciously hurt you? Revenge? The pleasure of seeing you suffer, knowing that I am with someone else? I may be a cad, but not that great of a cad."

She took a deep breath, telling her heart to stop hammering in her chest. "I am sorry, Rhett." She attempted a watery smile. "I seem to be saying that a lot these days, aren't I."

"Don't overexert yourself," he said lightly. "I'll give Uncle Henry your regards. We should have him over for dinner while I'm here. He's not getting any younger, and he enjoys seeing Wade."

She nodded. He pinched her lightly on the chin, and grabbed his coat at the sound of the carriage drawing up in front of the house. "Get some sleep if you can, Scarlett. You really do look tired. And you needn't worry. I promise to be on my best behavior tonight."

There it was again, the ghost of the ghost of his old smile. She watched him close the door behind him, feeling strangely comforted. Perhaps she would even be able to sleep tonight.


	3. Can Never Be Unspoken

_Thanks for your reviews! Not sure if this is too long, if anybody has an idea about how to cut it and lets me know I'd be grateful._

_The usual disclaimers still apply._

_Murder minus one chapter._

* * *

_Ondine: "Oh, how difficult it is to live among you, where what has happened can never again not have happened. How terrible to live where a word can never be unspoken and a gesture can never be unmade" -Jean Giraudoux, 'Ondine'_

Scarlett awoke to sunlight streaming brightly through the large windows. As her mind fought off the last remnants of sleep, she experienced a moment of disorientation. Why was she up here in her room? The last thing she remembered from last night was going back downstairs after laying awake for several hours, and coughing. She had gotten a glass of cold water from the kitchen and then settled herself on the small settee in the drawing room. She had hoped Rhett would come home, so she could talk to him, so she could …..well, to be honest with herself, she had mainly done it so he would see her in her new green velvet wrapper that darkened her eyes into an entrancing shade of emerald. She had even worn a nightgown they had bought in New Orleans, just in case.

What had happened? She must have nodded off, she told herself. Someone must have brought her back upstairs, and that someone could only have been Rhett! Neither James nor any of the other servants would have had the nerve to touch her, let alone lift her up and carry her up to her room. She remembered the last time Rhett had carried her up those stairs, and sighed. So many missed chances.

A glance at the clock told her it was almost nine thirty. Much later than she usually awoke. She rang for Prissy and laid out the black dress and bonnet she had chosen for the Memorial Event in the afternoon. For now, she dressed in the blue gown she had worn last night, and told herself to have the new green dresses made up as soon as possible so she would have something else so wear around the house. Afterwards she took her breakfast downstairs, seeing no sign of either Rhett or the children. Elsa, the new cook, told her Wade and Ella had gone to the park with Beau and India about fifteen minutes ago and that she would bring them back before lunch.

Scarlett's relationship with India had undergone a significant thaw in the past months, to the point that India now invited her to events in her house even when other people were present, and the children moved as freely between both houses as they had when Melanie was alive. Scarlett was not exactly sure what had triggered the change, but assumed that her very obviously businesslike relationship with Ashley, the time she had put into helping him with the mills, and her attention to Beau had somehow penetrated the sturdy walls of India's dislike. She didn't really care what motivated India, but it certainly made keeping her promise to Melly easier.

No one knew where Rhett was, and he had not ordered the carriage. She wondered if he had gone for a walk, but saw his hat was still on the hook by the doorway. Where could he have gone? He was neither in the horses paddock nor the vegetable garden nor in the small pavilion by the roses. She approached the stable, and that is when she saw him.

He was tucked away into the shadows of the barn, staring into the small empty stall that had once housed Bonnie's pony. There was something so rigid about his frame and such a frozen expression on his face that Scarlett's breath caught in sudden pain. She resisted her first impulse to leave without being seen, and stepped forward bravely.

"Rhett," she whispered. "Don't stay here. Don't look. It makes it worse."

He neither replied nor even seemed to see her.

She pulled on his sleeve. "Come away from here Rhett! You have to listen to me!" He remained motionless, so motionless that she might as well have been pulling on a statue. Finally, not knowing what else to do, she stood on tip-toes, and reached up with her hands to pull his face down and kissed him.

It was not a passionate kiss. It was a kiss intended to anger him, to make him push her away. Anything, even his wrath, was better than that dead look on his face. To her surprise, he tolerated her kiss for several heartbeats before he stepped back, his gaze slowly returning from far places.

"Sorry," she said with difficulty. Something seemed to have happened to her voice. "But you have to get away from here." She tugged on his arm again and this time he allowed himself to be pulled out of the barn. She led him towards the small pavilion, which she had built two months ago and which held no memories of Bonnie. This would have to do.

"Sit down," she said, as if she were talking to Wade. To her surprise, he complied, lowering his heavy frame onto the dainty wrought-iron bench surrounded by gravel. But still he said nothing.

Here, she knew, was the source of the emptiness inside of him. The paddock right next to them was the place were their four-year old daughter had fallen and died. And she – oh, how could she have! She had uttered one of the most terrible, unforgivable things that had been said aloud in their marriage – that he killed their child! How could he ever forgive her?

She knelt before him, heedless of the mud that would spatter on her dress. "Rhett," she said urgently. "I need you to know that I didn't mean what I said to you after Bonnie died. I didn't mean it! She was so high spirited, so willful, you couldn't have stopped her." She felt a sob catch in her throat, and struggled to continue.. "She was just like me. I fell out of trees plenty of times when I was her age and no one could have stopped me from climbing. Mother and Mammy tried their best but I never listened. It wasn't your fault!"

He was looking at her now, but his face was still as bleak as winter. "Rhett," she said urgently. "Say you believe me that I didn't mean it! I only wanted to hurt you because I was hurting so much. It was awful of me and I've regretted it more than anything. I would give up everything I have if I could go back and do things differently. Oh please, say you believe me!"

"Oh, I believe you," he said, in much the same voice that he had used when he had rejected her declaration of love, many months earlier. "It's to your credit that you're apologizing, especially since I've never apologized for what I said to you on the staircase before you fell."

Those other words now hung between them, unspoken, and Scarlett's mind overflowed with the enormity of it all. How could such wounds even begin to scab, how could they start over with so much pain between them?

"You see, Scarlett," he said softy, as if in answer to her thoughts. "We can forgive but we can't forget. I can't forget your words after Bonnie's death anymore than you can forget what I said to you that day when I returned."

"I did so want that baby," she said softly. "the one we lost. I never could tell you how happy I was and how much I wanted you to come home so I could tell you."

He looked as if she had struck another deadly blow. She could bear the look on his face no longer. She arose from her position at his feet and sat beside him on the bench, flinging her arms around his chest and holding him close. For an agonizing second she feared he would push her away, but instead, he drew her closer, hiding his head in her hair. She felt his chest heave as if in silent sobs, and she felt her own tears falling freely.

She didn't know how long they had sat there, clinging to each other. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, when their breathing returned to normal, she pulled away. "Look at me, I must be a real fright," she said, to say something, anything, to give the atmosphere a lighter note. "You wouldn't happen to have one of those handkerchiefs on you that you were always going on about?"

He took a deep breath, and gave a soft laugh. "You're a strong woman, Scarlett. Perhaps I never really appreciated just how strong you are and instead preferred to think of you as unfeeling." He held out his hand with a handkerchief. "Here." She wiped her tear-stained face and blew her nose gratefully. "I loved her too you know," she said, between sniffs.

"Yes," he agreed sofly. "I know."

She got up finally, now desperate to turn the subject to something less painful. "Have you seen the new rose garden? It's ever so pretty, and there is a pond at the end with fish in them. Come with me and I will show it to you."

She didn't know if he saw through her blatant attempt to get him away from the sight of the stables, but he didn't comment, and rose to follow her down the path.

"Rhett –" she said suddenly,– "did you carry me upstairs last night? I don't remember ….."

He looked down at her with a barely noticeable glint of amusement. "Yes, my dear, I did. You were fast asleep."

At her embarrassed expression, he added: "And now of course you are wondering if it was difficult for me to lay you down on that bed without …."

"I wasn't thinking anything like that!" she retorted, with what she hoped was credible indignation. "I was merely wondering how….."

"But you did," he said, teasingly. "And since you were kind to me today I will acknowledge that I may have harbored…..an impure thought or two after I removed your wrapper and found you were wearing that very becoming green nightgown we had bought in New Orleans together."

Her eyes gleamed with a sudden eager light. He still wanted her! How right she had been to choose that particular nightgown! But just as quickly as her hopes rose, they were fell again. He had wanted plenty of women, and he hadn't loved any of them. And in any case he was probably doing the same thing she had tried to do earlier, trying to distract her from thinking about Bonnie. He probably didn't even mean a word he was saying! She looked up at him, half expecting him to be smirking at her.

Whatever it was he was thinking, at least he wasn't laughing at her. "Well Rhett," she said, somewhat crossly, "you're certainly nicer about having the whip end than I ever thought you could be. Or," she added with a burst of truthfulness, "than I would have been."

He looked at her kindly. "And in return for such a handsome acknowledgement I will tell you that we might have done better had I been as open as you are about what I felt, instead of hiding everything away for so many years."

"Rhett," she said, slowly, "do you think ….what I mean is, do you think ...if we had met now, do you think we might have had a chance?"

"Perhaps," he said gently. "Although I suspect we would still be very much the same people without all our losses and make the same mistakes."

She shook her head. "I … I just wish. …." she sighed, her thoughts still too incoherent to come together in a mind so untrained in analysis as hers. Then she shrugged. She would think about it later, or maybe tomorrow. "I guess we should go back to the house? I need to change again and we should be at ….the cemetery…. by two at the latest so we can still make it to our seats. We have reserved seats because I ….we….gave a lot of money to the Association."

His black eyes mocked her but at least they no longer looked dead. "Did we. I am happy to hear ….we….are such excellent citizens, my dear."

"You will ….." Scarlett couldn't bring herself to continue. He looked at her.

"I will what, Scarlett?"

"You will be alright Rhett? To go there, I mean. To Oakland. Because if it's going to be too painful, well, it's not worth it, even if we're not seen together. We can….

"It's all right, Scarlett," he said, gently. "I've gone to her grave many times before today."

"Oh," she said, relieved but also deeply struck that he had never mentioned it to her. Then she sighed. "Let's go in then. I can show you the fish pond some other time."

~~oo~~

Later that evening, after the children had gone to bed, Scarlett sat in the drawing room with a glass of wine. She had cut back her drinking drastically since Rhett had left but tonight she felt she needed the added support of alcohol to sustain her spirits.

What a brutal, difficult day! The unveiling had gone well. The weather had been beautiful, and the entire Butler family and their servants had joined the great procession from the State House on Marietta Street to Oakland Cemetary, led by General "Tige" Anderson. Their seats had been in plain view of the podium, covered with comfortable sun-shields and refreshments on hand. Everybody who was anybody in the Old Guard was in attendance and able to get an eyeful of the Butlers enjoying the celebrations together in perfect harmony. That ought to show them, Scarlett thought to herself with some satisfaction. Colonal Hardeman had given an uplifting dedication speech, and at the end everybody had swarmed about the confederate section of the cemetery, laying wreaths and flowers on the graves of the Confederate Dead. All in all, it had been a roaring success for the Ladies' Memorial Association.

That had been the easy part. The harder part came soon afterwards, when the Butlers had wandered over to the modern section of the cemetery, and stood in front of a small grave, which bore their daughter's name and date of birth, and the words, "Beloved daughter." Scarlett laid a wreath of blue flowers onto the grave, unable to stop her tears from flowing freely. Wade simply looked sad and pensive, and Ella, uncomfortable with all the emotions swirling about her, tried to caper about wildly until Scarlett snapped at her. At Ella's crestfallen expression, Scarlett felt immediate remorse, and gave her a hug. "Go say hi to Beau," she said, seeing India standing a few rows down in front of Melly's gave with her nephew. Ashley was probably still busy decorating the graves of former comrades - which was just as well. She had no interest in running into him right now.

She stole a look at Rhett, whose face was impassive, but he seemed to be holding himself together credibly. A strange sense of peace washed over her – at least they were here together, mourning their beautiful daughter, as they should have been doing all along. She instinctively reached for his hand, and, without thinking, gave voice to the thought in her head. "Oh Rhett," she murmured, "we should have come here together before today."

He gave her hand a squeeze, and, letting go, looked down at her, not unkindly. "I don't think we were in a place to do so, Scarlett, before today. I certainly couldn't have come here with you while I felt you blamed me for her death."

She felt as if those simple words went straight to her heart like a knife. "Oh, how horrible I was!" she thought, and suddenly, burst into tears. He laid a comforting arm around her shoulders while she cried. They drew sympathetic looks from passersby, to whom they presented a touching picture of a husband consoling his grieving wife - not something anyone would previously have associated with the Butlers, but wildly helpful to their reputation, had they known it, or, at that moment, cared.

He had been kind to her throughout the entire rest of the evening. Dinner had been pleasant, the children on their best behavior after such an exhausting day. It had almost felt like being a family again. Internally, however, Scarlett's emotions were in a turmoil. She did not know whether to be elated or crestfallen by the day's events. Instinct told her that there had been a breakthrough of sorts, but her instinct had been wrong about Rhett so many times that she had ceased to trust it. And he had never wavered from his kindly attitude towards her. She sighed. Perhaps he would never feel more than kindness and pity for her again, but perhaps – just perhaps – they could become friends again over time. She realized, with a bleakness that she rarely permitted herself to feel, just how much she had missed his friendship.

Sitting in the drawing-room going over the events of the day, she suddenly felt very tired, and her persistent cough, which mainly manifested itself at night, was already scratching in her throat. At the sound of footsteps behind her, she turned to see Rhett walking in. As always his mere presence affected her like a physical shock. "Would you like some wine?" she offered, with a lightness she didn't feel.

"What kind?" he asked. "I opened a bottle of the French wine you brought for Christmas," she said, pointing towards a half-full carafe on the side-board. "Then yes, thank you." he replied. He poured himself a glass, and they stood in companionable silence.

"How long will you stay," she asked softly, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere but needing to know.

"I'm not sure yet," he replied, honestly. "I had counted on staying at least a week, depending on how things go."

She nodded. "The children will be happy to spend some time with you. They miss you."

"And I miss them."

"You could just stay," she said, before she could stop herself.

He sighed. "Scarlett, it's not a pleasant experience to be in love with someone and see them, every day, when they don't feel the same way about you. I've lived it for twelve years, and I couldn't do that to you. Eventually, you would hate me for it."

"Or," she said, with an attempt at sauciness that wasn't entirely counterfeit, "you could just fall in love with me again and then there wouldn't be a problem." She had a sudden flashback to the cool, soft touch of his lips on hers earlier this morning and flushed deeply. She had to resist the sudden impulse to run her hands through his crisp black hair.

He laughed. "I do admire your spunk, my dear, and your honesty." He drained the last drop of wine from his glass and set it back down. "We could both probably use an early night."

She nodded, and just before they turned in opposite directions towards their respective rooms, she said: "Rhett?"

"What?" His dark eyes gleamed in the darkness of the hallway.

"I _could_ forget. Those words we talked about earlier. If there were lots of other words, good words, loving words, between us, then I think I could ….forget."

He said nothing, and after waiting for a moment she gave a disappointed sigh. "Good night, Rhett."

She turned to her room, unaware that his gaze followed her until she closed the door behind her.

She slept fitfully until suddenly, in the early hour of the morning, the entire household was awoken by a loud knock on the door.


	4. Thunder

_Thanks to all of you that took the time to review! It is much appreciated. And finally, the actual murder._

_Weak M-Rating for this chapter for some blood and gore, and a couple of adult themes (no, not that kind, lol). At any rate, consider yourself warned._

_This chapter also introduces the painful topic of race relations in the South, and I must ask you to bear with me. First of all, the viewpoints will be those of the characters, not mine. Second of all, I may stumble over some of the terminology – typing "darkie" pains me, "Negro" is almost worse, and "black" or "African American" too modern. What you end up with is the hodge-podge that you see._

_If you're not thoroughly confused already, then all I can say is - Good luck._

* * *

At first it seemed to be nothing more sinister than the distant roll of thunder which had punctuated much of the night. But there it was again - it was a different sound altogether, she decided groggily - closer, and more unrelenting than a far-off clash of the heavens. Another loud knock. And then another. She heard the soft opening and closing of a door. The sound of light footsteps on the staircase, almost completely swallowed by the lush carpet.

And then the knocking stopped.

Scarlett rose unwillingly, her mind still fogged with the remnants of the sleep that had eluded her for most of the night. She glanced at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner of her room – five o'clock in the morning. She had slept for barely a few hours. Swinging herself from the bed, she grabbed her green, velvet wrapper, slipped her arms into the sleeves, and opened her door.

Stepping outside onto the balcony, she saw that her husband was already downstairs, talking to two men she did not know. With some surprise she recognizing the uniform and hats of Atlanta's newly established police force- in her house, at this ungodly hour. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. Was she dreaming? What could have happened?

The two officers were visibly drenched with rain; the moisture dripping from their hats and clothing onto the thick red carpet of the foyer. She heard the rumbling undertones of their voices carry up to the balcony, but was unable to make out what was said.

Scarlett felt a frisson of nervous energy run down her spine. Whatever it was, it would not be good news. It never was.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the two young men tipped their hats, and left via the front door. Rhett turned and walked back up the staircase with the slow, halting steps of a man who had aged several decades in the space of a few minutes. Scarlett waited until he had reached the top of the stairs, then, as lithe as a shadow, followed him into the hallway to his door. Her small hand reached for his arm, restraining him. "Rhett," she said urgently, "what happened. You must tell me…."

He turned to her, drawing her into the chamber, softly closing the door behind him. For an agonizing moment, he let the silence draw out between them, and Scarlett was afraid he wouldn't answer her at all.

When he did speak, his voice was monotone and even, giving away nothing but the bare facts. "There was a shooting at Belle Watling's establishment. One of the girls was murdered."

She drew back, confused. "But why…."

"Belle Watling's son was critically injured. He is not expected to survive."

His skin was pale under his tan, giving the lie to his flat, unemotional voice. "I need to go there. She – Belle- has asked for my help."

Scarlett felt her heart throb in her throat like a thousand dark drums. Staring at his face – taking in the pallor, the fear – she _knew_. Belle Watling's son …..and _his_ son. This was the boy he had mentioned once-or was it several times? before their marriage, and then never again. The boy in New Orleans that he had visited so often. Scarlett had never asked about him, certain even then that he would not tell her. But she had had her suspicions. Perhaps she had always known, and not wanted to have her fears confirmed.

He was Rhett's son, she now knew without a shadow of a doubt. Their daughter Bonnie had died, but Belle had given Rhett a son.

One of the many, many things that she, Scarlett, had failed at so spectacularly.

And now he was injured, perhaps dying.

A lifetime ago, this would have been a time for rage, for recriminations. Now, the only emotions she felt were helplessness and defeat. "Of course," she said, willing her voice to sound calm and even. "You must go. Hurry."

He gave her a quick glance, as if in surprise, but wasted no time. She remained in the room, waiting for goodness knew what - that he would explain? apologize? berate her? He dressed quickly, with a rock-hard economy of motion, his lean body glistening in the dark. He did not protest her presence. "The two policemen are waiting outside with their carriage," he said. "They will drive me to Marietta Street." He paused, but only for a moment, and then added "I don't know when I will be back."

She said nothing, her face in the shadows, but forced herself to speak, to say something. Anything. "I hope he will be alright," was all she could come up with. It felt woefully inadequate.

"It didn't sound good." Rhett said, in that flat deadly voice of his. "Shot through the lungs is what the officers told me."

Then he was gone. Probably already forgetting about her existence.

Scarlett stood for several minutes in the dark, her mind an incoherent jumble. She felt helpless, humiliated, betrayed. Angry. Sad. Hopeless. Afraid. Yes, more than anything, she felt afraid. Finally, as if in a haze, a plan shaped in her mind, and she walked slowly back into her room. She felt a surge of energy, not dissimilar to the vitalizing effects of a glass of brandy. Anything was better than this, this waiting around.

She exchanged her nightgown for one of the simple black mourning dresses that she owned, not bothering to put on a corset. She was able to close all but three of the tiny hooks in the back, decideding no one would notice, and at any rate there was no time to wake up Prissy. She piled her hair in a rough knot on her head, not caring that several wild strands escaped almost immediately and tumbled down her shoulders. She put on black, sensible boots that would stand the weather. In the hallway, she also grabbed a white apron and cap from the closet where the servants kept spare sets.

Downstairs, she almost bumped into James, coming in from the back to start his day's work. He had probably missed the commotion, she thought. All the better.

"Get the buggy," she said, sharply. "Be quick. We need to go."

James, who knew better than to question his mistress when she was in such a fey mood, obeyed instantly.

Barely fifteen minutes later, the large brown carriage horse trotted down the muddy streets. The rain had slowed down to an almost imperceptible drizzle, the gas-lit streetlights casting an eerie glow on the trees and houses that they passed. Scarlett fought the disconcerting feeling that she had somehow been transported into her nightmare, out of the realm of sanity and safety, into a strange, shifting world of terrors.

She would _not_ be a ninny, she told herself fiercely. If she could survive her husband's abandonment on the same day her best friend died, she could survive this.

They drove to the end of Ivy Street and then turned into Colley street, which gradually widened to a modest but upscale neighborhood patronized by many of the upper middle class transplants from the North – officers, businessmen and professional people. She had James draw up in front of a beautiful, well-kept colonial-style house and told him to wait.

She ran up to the doorway, and knocked loudly. If only her courage would not fail her...

About five minutes later, a stout grey-haired woman, probably the housekeeper, answered the door with an unbecoming frown at the early intrusion. "Please wake Dr. Harrison immediately," Scarlett said haughtily, in as commanding a tone as she could muster in her wet dress and mud-spattered shoes. "Tell him to bring his instrument bag. " When the housekeeper hesitated, she added forcefully. "Tell him Mrs. Butler is here and needs him for a patient." The housekeeper nodded, recognizing the name if not the face. She was used to the intrusions of patients or their family members at all hours, but obviously not pleased.

Another fifteen minutes brought Dr. Harrison, who had apparently done little more than grab his bag and pull a long coat over his black pajamas. He was a tall, sparse man with graying hair and pale eyes. Scarlett and the Yankee surgeon held each other in mutual esteem after they had been introduced by one of Scarlett's former acquaintances. He had tried to find foot-hold in Atlanta's society, mainly for the sake of his young wife, as he himself was a man of science without much of a social bend. Mrs. Butler had proved useful in making the right introductions to the lower ranks of Good Society, and as Mrs. Harrison was young, sweet, and biddable the Old Guard had taken her in under a provisional license. In other words, he owed Scarlett, and she had never hesitated to call in her debts.

"Mrs. Butler," he said, in his crisp Boston accent. "How may I be of service?"

"We must drive to Belle Watling's sporting house immediately," Scarlett replied, wholly aware of how outrageous she sounded. She didn't stop, however, lest her resolve would falter. Lest she had time to think. "There has been a shooting and a man was hurt. You must come quickly."

"Not your husband, I hope," he said, dryly, his eyebrows raised in question.

Scarlett colored, inwardly cursing Belle, her son, and especially Rhett Butler for the mess he had gotten her into. "No," she said, wrathfully. "Of course not my husband. It was Belle's son who was injured. Please come quickly."

He got into the buggy without asking her any further questions. The wheels turned with difficulty in the dragging mud, and progress was slow despite the heroic efforts of the carriage horse. Scarlett almost hummed with impatience and dread. Broad Street. Marietta Street. Finally, the buggy turned North, and slowly moved up the road by the railroad tracks.

James stopped the cart in front of a large brownstone building, completely non-descript and unassuming on the outside. There was a place to hitch the horse behind the property, and an unobtrusive, covered entranceway on the side of the building, blocked from the street by several large, shielding bushes.

Scarlett was not in a frame of mind to appreciate the discretion it offered. She refused James' hand, jumped from the buggy and grabbed the instrument bag. She gestured to the Doctor, who knew her well enough not to protest. Already, several people were standing around the building, whispering to each other and pointing at the windows. Word must be starting to spread that something unusual and exciting had happened here.

She knocked firmly on the door. When the door was opened, she called "the doctor has come", to no one in particular. Dr. Harrison, stepping firmly forward, did not wait for an invitation, and Scarlett, with her apron and cap and carrying his bag, hoped to be taken for his maid. It seemed to be working - none of the police officers paid her the slightest attention. She kept her eyes down.

Please, she prayed, let no one recognize me. Please.

She took a few seconds to glance surreptitiously around. To her surprise, it was an elegant establishment by her standards. A wide, generous room with a large bar in the back, dotted with card tables. Large, ornate mirrors lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

In fact, Scarlett thought with some confusion, the overall decor wasn't too different in style and coloring from her own house on Peachtree Street.

Oh, how horrible, she thought. I must change the mirrors, and the carpets. At once. And the curtains. Oh! Why did Rhett never tell me?

Oil paintings with suggestive scenes lined the walls – one particularly large, gold-framed panting titled "The Rape of the Sabine Women" caught her eyes, and she blushed even more deeply. Another painting showed a nude young female about to be scalped by what seemed to be a feathered Indian in full War Colors, raising his Tomahawk.

Scarlett shuddered. How could anyone feel amorous with such paintings staring at them?

Several women and (Scarlett assumed) their clients stood in small groups by the bar, , having apparently been told to wait by the police. They did not look their way.

"Where is the patient," Dr. Harrison asked one of the policemen standing in the middle of the room.

"Upstairs, sir."

In the back of the room, a large, carpeted wooden staircase lead to the second story. Scarlett followed Dr. Harrison closely, still averting her eyes. No sign of Rhett, or Belle as far as she had been able to tell.

At the top of the stairs they stepped into a long, broad hallway. Many doors branched off in both directions. The last door at the very end of the corridor was open, and Scarlett thought she could make out the sound of muffled moaning.

"Wait," Scarlett said. She pushed past Dr. Harrison and stepped forward, into the room.

On a large four-poster bed lay a young man. Scarlett guessed him to be perhaps in his late teens, or at the most early twenties. He was dark of hair, swarthy of complexion, his ink-black eyes wide open, filled with delirium and pain. He was sure to be handsome when he was healthy, Scarlett thought disjointedly. Even after that one glance she was painfully aware of how much he resembled Rhett.

The boy's shirt had been removed and his chest wound had been inadequately patched up with white sheets, which were already starting to seep through with oozing blood. An older, redheaded woman knelt at his bed, holding his right hand in hers, her features contorted in fear.

With some difficulty, Scarlett recognized Belle Watling. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had last seen her.

She would have much preferred never to see her again.

It was only then that she became aware the other person in the room. "Rhett," she said, quickly, before he could speak and possibly berate her for coming. "I've brought Dr. Harrison. He was with the Yankee army as a surgeon and has seen more bullet wounds than anyone. He saved Hugh Elsing's leg when everyone else said it was hopeless. He may be able to help."

She turned to the doctor. "Dr. Harrison. My husband, Rhett. And…this… is Miss Watling."

"Miss Watling," he nodded.

"Thank you doctor," she replied. "I am his mother." She looked at him with a mixture of fear and rekindled hope.

Dr. Harrison now moved forward, claiming the room and the patient as his own. "I need boiling hot water," he said. "And some space." His glance landed on Rhett with only the faintest trace of disapproval. "Mr. Butler," he nodded, his Boston accent even more noticeable than before. Scarlett grimaced. Heaven knew what he thought about the whole situation, but his impassive face gave away nothing more. "Can you assist me?" he asked. "I need someone to hold him and administer the chloroform during the procedure." Rhett nodded.

Dr. Harrison gestured to Scarlett. "Please get the mother out of the room. And have someone bring us boiling water. A lot of boiling water. And clean sheets."

Scarlett nodded. She knelt next to the woman who had been the nemesis of her marriage for longer than she cared to remember. "Come," she said, with a gentleness she had not expected of herself, least of all in relation to this creature, whom she had every reason to despise. "We should let the doctor work."

Belle grasped her wrist, most likely reluctant to leave the sick boy, but allowing herself to be pulled up and out of the room.

"Who can you tell to boil water and bring sheets," Scarlett asked, striving to keep her voice as businesslike as possible. When Belle did not react immediately, she snapped, the emotion of the night finally unloading in her voice. "God's nightgown, Miss Watling! It won't help your son if you fall apart. You need to pull yourself together."

Belle nodded shakily, but appeared to take in her words. "Wait," she said, disappearing down the stairs.

Scarlett was left alone in the darkness, the magnitude of what she had done beginning to descend on her. She must have gone mad. Stark, raving mad, to help husband's mistress, and his bastard. Thank goodness her mother, and Melly, were no longer here to see her. Or hear about her. Oh, merciful God.

She was going insane. If someone saw her her reputation, or what was left of it, would be in shreads.

About ten minutes later, Belle and a well-dressed young woman appeared, both bearing kettles. They disappeared into the young man's room. Belle reemerged almost immediately – Dr. Harrison did not believe in having relatives at a sick-bed while he worked. He had sent Hugh's wife away as well, Scarlett thought.

"Where did it happen," Scarlett whispered to Belle when the other woman rejoined her.

"Here." She pulled Scarlett to a room in a second hallway to the right, at a ninty degree angle to the first. A very young police officer stood by the half-opened door, blocking their entry. He looked uncomfortable. "Please, I am not allowed…"

"We won't touch anything," Belle said, haughtily. He stepped aside, unwilling to argue with her without his superior by his side. He would keep an eye on them.

It was an elegant room of a very different style than the rest of the décor in the building. A rich mahogany bed, with ivory sheets and a claret-colored duvet cover. A desk with ornate wood carvings. The walls lined with bookshelves. A globe standing on the floor. The faint smell of cigars.

"This is Rhett's room." She didn't realize she had spoke the thought aloud. The other woman glanced at her, neither denying nor confirming her statement.

It wasn't necessary.

This was, without any doubt, _the_ room. The room he had stayed in too many nights after she had banned him from her bed. The room he must have slept in with Belle, and maybe many other whores. The room in which he had touched them. Caressed them. Whispering to them what he had whispered to her, that one wild night in which she had believed that things could be different between them. The night in which she had allowed herself to believe that he loved her.

The night in which she had been an utter fool.

She shook her head like a wild pony, trying to disperse the memory. Only then did she actually take in the scene in front of her.

On the bed, partially wrapped in the rich ivory sheets, lay a young woman, obviously dead for some time. Her graceful limbs were unnaturally contorted, the sheets beneath her soaked with red blood already intermingling with the dark red color of the duvet cover; but her face and form were unblemished by the gaping, fatal wound to her chest.

Scarlett stared. She was young, and she was excruciatingly beautiful.

But what she was not was …..White.

Not completely, at any rate. This was a girl with some African blood. It showed in the coffee-colored complexion, the overall shape of the nose, but most of all, in the glistening mass of tightly coiled black curls that splashed around the burgundy pillows.

Scarlett's mind couldn't even begin to take in the implications of it all. Suddenly, her mind raced back to her honeymoon in New Orleans, where she had seen people who looked like this girl everywhere on the streets and in the shops. She had not given them a second thought at this time, too busy with her parties and her dances and her newly-wedded bliss.

But somehow, seeing this girl, here, she _knew_. Rhett's son had been with a woman of mixed heritage.

"Is she….I mean, did she work here?" Such a thing was unthinkable. Decent men didn't…..but then, decent men wouldn't frequent such an establishment in the first place. Maybe ….

"No. She was no girl of mine. She was Thad's lady friend," Belle whispered. "He met her in New Orleans. She was the girl of someone he worked for. Thad did. They fell in love. Seeing as he couldn't marry her, he brought her here."

"Oh," Scarlett said, although she understood nothing. Marry her? He had wanted to marry her?

Her mind tried to latch on to something she could grasp. "Thad?"

"Thaddeus", Belle clarified.

Scarlett understood two things – that the boy, Rhett's son, had fallen in love with a girl of color - and that Belle assumed that she, Scarlett, knew his name.

Both assumptions were equally mortifying. Oh! What other things did she not know about, what other things had they, Rhett, her father, her other husbands, men, women like Belle or this girl – what other things had they hidden from her? How long had she walked through life being made a fool of by everybody? She felt an odd tightening of her chest. Please, oh please, God, don't let me faint, she prayed.

She heard a choking sound next to her, and her miserable thoughts were momentarily diverted by her companion. She noticed how sallow the other woman was under her rouge, and, for the second time that night, her heart contracted with a previously unsuspected fellow-feeling. "Miss Watling. You don't look well. Is there somewhere we can sit?"

Belle nodded, opening the door to yet another room. "Gisele isn't here tonight," she said, not clarifying who Gisele was.

The room was cheery, tasteful, and had a sitting area in one of the corners. Dawn was creeping in through the high windows, adding a rosy tint to white walls. Books Scarlett had seen at Fayettesville Acadamy, but never opened, lay scattered on the amall table. A floral print on the wall.

It was nothing like what Scarlett had imagined a house of ill repute would look like. She glanced at the book-back closest to her, and sighed. The Sonnets of Shakespeare. Apparently, even a Whore dreamt of love. Where all women fools?

Belle sat down, heavily. "Can I get you some water?" Scarlett asked, more for the chance to get away than out of a wish to be helpful. "No thank you," Belle whispered. "I just….."

"You just want him to get well." Scarlett nodded, her tone as brittle as her heart. It was all too, too much. If she remained much longer in the company of this creature she would claw her, or break down and beg her to tell her everything about Rhett that she knew, that he had told her in the many long nights when he was here instead of their house.

"It was mighty good of you to bring the doctor," Belle said, candidly. "I don't understand it, Mrs. Butler, but I thank you."

"I didn't do it for you," Scarlett replied with considerable acidity. Oh, God, would they never finish? What if someone came?

"I figured not. But he is my boy, you see, and he's all I have."

And they waited. Scarlett was reminded of other such early morning vigils, and none that she remembered had ended well. Finally, after what seemed like a life-time, Dr. Harrison and Rhett emerged from the hallway.

Belle jumped up, the terrible fear that only a parent can feel in her face, her hands upturned in silent supplication. Rhett's face looked tired, but more peaceful, and for that Scarlett was briefly, blindingly grateful. She would keep it that way. As God was her witness – his face would never again wear the deadened expression it wore last morning when he had looked at the pony's stable. Not while there was breath in her body.

She was suddenly shaken by another violent bout of coughing.

"He's alive," the doctor said, briefly. "I was able to remove the bullet. I can't say for certain but I feel it may have missed the lungs. He's lost a lot of blood, and wound fever is a distinct possibility. I've patched him up and given him something to keep out the infection. There was an important paper published in England a few years ago that recommended the use of carbolic acid solution, which I've found to work quite well for wounds such as this. The next few days will be critical."

He looked at Belle, and then at Rhett, and hesitated. "This place will be swarming with police, and by-standers within a few hours. He is stable, for now. I suggest you move him to a safe place, Miss Watling, while you still can, where he can recover in peace and where his environment can be kept clean."

For a few heartbeats, there was silence.

Then, someone spoke. "He can stay with us."

Scarlett realized it had been her own voice, although she did not recognize it. Was she losing her mind completely? Was she finally becoming unhinged?

Rhett's eyes gleamed with something like surprise for the second time that night, but he nodded. "I will talk to the chief of police," he said. "It shouldn't be a problem. They can interview him there as well as here – probably better. And he's not going anywhere."

"That will work." The doctor nodded, his face as impassive as before, his pale blue eyes taking in Scarlett, Rhett, and the Madam of the Whorehouse, and probably deciding he really did not want to know what any of this implied. He had a patient to take care of, and that was all that mattered.

"I will come to see him later today at your house, Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett nodded, and turned to Belle, ignoring Rhett. "I need to go with Dr. Harrison. I don't want anyone to recognize me. I'll send the closed carriage back for …Thad as soon as I get home."

Belle nodded, and for a horrible moment Scarlett feared she would kiss her cheek, or worse. But she only smiled tentatively.

"Thank you, Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett turned on her heels, and followed the doctor down the long hallway without replying.

Just before she descended down the stairs, a door opened, and a young woman stepped out, giving Scarlett a brief glimpse of the other occupant of the room, who was sitting on the bed with his face turned towards the window. Her eyes widened in sudden recognition. Was the entire world going insane alongside of her?

Before he could see her, Scarlett quickly followed the doctor down the stairs and out of the house.


	5. The Doctor Speaks

Disclaimers: As in the first chapter.

Three hours later, the boy was established in the blue guest room across the hallway from Rhett's. Rhett had cleared his removal to the Peachtree Mansion with Chief Parker, who, after thinking the matter over for a moment in unruffled silence, had voiced no objection. He understood better than anyone the drawbacks of leaving a key witness to murder in as exposed and vulnerable an environment as a brothel house.

Chief Parker was a large, round man, with balding brown hair and an air of well-bred ease which never deserted him; not in the ball-rooms of the Old Guard from which he sprung, nor in the back-alleys of Atlanta to which his profession had occasionally brought him. His cheeks wore the ruddy complexion of the active outdoorsman, and his ample waistcoats were as colorful as Rhett's own had once been in happier days. Only his eyes belied the picture of joviality that had drawn many an unsuspecting person into hasty assumptions about his nature; deep-set eyes of a blue the color of flint, as piercing as persistent drops of rainwater on a hollow stone.

"We will be by later to see if he is up to being interviewed," he had said, with all the habitual self-assurance of his position and trade. "And Officer Jones here will accompany him at all times to ensure his ….safety."

The pause before the last word had been intentionally infinitesimal. Rhett had nodded. He and the Chief were on friendly terms, dating back to Rhett's assault on the Old Guard for the sake of Bonnie. They had played poker together in the town's reputable Saloons and sat on the same political committees - but a job was still a job.

The carriage had returned for them as promptly as Scarlett had promised. He and Belle's barkeeper had moved the boy carefully onto the cushions under the curious gaze of a small crowd of onlookers. They had wrapped him in clean sheets and covered him with blankets, but he still shivered with fever despite the hot spring air.

Moving him was risky, albeit not as risky as leaving him where he was.

Once the patient had been made as comfortable as possible, he and Officer Jones climbed into the carriage and signaled to the driver. The large horse moved forward and jostled over the muddy roads of Atlanta, which elicited low moans from the invalid. Thankfully, none of the bystanders opted to follow the carriage, instead contenting themselves with pointing and chattering amongst themselves.

Belle had stayed inside to avoid drawing further attention to the move, but Rhett could see her pale face framed by one of the upper street-side windows, the sole meaning of her life slowly moving up the street towards the home of her one-time rival, powerless to help or be by his side.

He felt a frisson of pity towards her, one of the few emotions spared by the fire that had ravaged his soul.

He would do everything in his power to make sure the boy survived. Too much had been lost already.

Twenty minutes later, they had pulled up in front of the Peachtree Mansion. James had lain in wait, handing the horse to one of the stable boys. "Miz Scarlett is wanting him to be upstairs, Sir," he had replied in response to Rhett's questioning look.

Rhett had been so surprised by Scarlett's offer that he had not known what to expect when he arrived. Perhaps that she would install the boy in one of the servant's quarters. Instead, she had stood at the door, her thin frame outwardly collected and calm, and directed them to the upstairs guest room she had had made up.

Rhett intuited the wisdom of this decision, once made. Control over access to Thad, as well as their ability to direct the inevitable gossip, would be much facilitated by keeping him in the main house. He had not, however, expected good judgment to triumph over Scarlett's ire towards the offspring of his mistress. Surprises were all the more pleasant at this point in his life as they were rare.

When they entered the guest room with the boy, Rhett's lips twisted in faint imitation of a smirk. She had had the bed made up with old brown sheets he remembered buying with her when they first moved in. While some things had shifted one hundred and eighty degrees off their axis, others never would.

There was vague comfort in the thought.

They laid Thad's hot form down on the bed, adjusting pillows and covers. All in all, he seemed to have weathered the trip as well as could have been expected.

Prissy, wearing a slightly mulish expression, had apparently been assigned to nursing duty. She brought in towels, and several basins of water, and began sponging Thad's face and his exposed arms. She hummed a wordless tune while she worked, apparently lost in thought. Officer James positioned himself in a large chair by the window, indicating he needed nothing further at this time.

For the moment, Thad was sleeping soundly and was as comfortable as they could make him. And Rhett left in search of Scarlett.

~~oo~~

The door to her room was ajar, and he entered slowly. She was lying on the day bed, her dark hair spread over a thick pillow, sound asleep. His gaze took in her thinness, and the drawn fatigue on her face. She had obviously not been eating well over the last six months, and it was taking a toll on her body.

Her breasts, however, were still full and voluptuous, half-exposed by the v-neck of the narrow blue dress she had not removed. Her full, red lips were half-open, and her startling black lashes cast tender half-moon shadows on her cheeks. Even her position was faintly sensuous, the flowing lines of her lithe body suggestive even in sleep. She looked exposed and vulnerable, like a young girl who had dozed off waiting for her lover.

A half-forgotten desire flooded through him, a stirring of his body which startled the aloof coolness of his mind out of its reverie and briefly quickened his breath. He allowed it to rise and crest, regarding himself and his physical reaction with the same amused detachment he now cultivated for everything in life. He suddenly remembered how her lips had felt on his that morning at the barn, as cool and soft as spring-water.

Then he managed a wry smile, as an old man might smile at the memory of an emotion from his youth, nostalgia mixed with bemusement, and even some contempt.

His presence tickled her animal instinct, and without a change in her breathing the pale green eyes flicked open. She stared at him for a moment as if unsure if he was real or a vision. "Rhett".

He entered fully into the room.

"Is anything wrong with …."

"Thad is fine, or as fine as he can be," he replied, intuiting what she was about to ask.

"Oh."

She did not understand why he had come to find her.

He drew a slow breath, his voice falling into a strangely rusty drawl. "I have not had time to thank you for your timeliness in bringing your physician, Scarlett. Indeed it was even more timely than you could have known. Belle's regular doctor was out of town, and two others slammed their doors on her emissaries when they learned where the patient was located."

He grimaced, remembering Belle's pitiful cries of despair at the news. "I was about to go get one of them at gun-point when you and …Dr. Harrison arrived. I dare say whomever I may have managed to …convince could only have offered less competent care, and at any rate it would have been difficult to get past the police."

Her green eyes were dull. "Think nothing of it."

"Ah, but I do," he replied. "It was one of the most …surprising events of the day to see you suddenly appear, a doctor in tow, and then offer to house Belle's son." A strange light glimmered in his gaze as he held hers. "Why did you do it, Scarlett?"

She did not respond, the dullness never leaving her gaze. What else did he want from her? She had already saved and now housed his bastard, more than any loving wife could be expected to tolerate. Was he here to humiliate her further? What was left that would cause her pain that he had not tried?

Finally she raised her head, her Irish blood rising with the last remnants of her self-respect and dignity. "Does it matter?" she said, her voice suddenly as hard as her expression.

"Curiously, I am finding it does."

She sighed. What was the point in lying to him? He would needle it out of her eventually.

Maybe if she told him he would go away and leave her be.

"I didn't want you to lose another child," she finally said.

"What?"

This was clearly not what he had expected to hear.

She scowled, thinking he was being deliberately obtuse. "You _know_. Losing …..Bonnie" she stumbled over the name, "broke you Rhett. And we had already lost …..the baby. I thought if you …..lose _him_ too….then …. there would be no hope, no hope you would ever come alive again." A hint of fierceness, a burning, had returned back into her voice, but it was merely an echo of a sentiment that no longer seemed to belong to her at all. "After what happened in the barn yesterday I knew I never wanted to see that look on your face again. I knew going through something more would really kill you. I would have done anything, gone anywhere, to keep that from happening."

The desperately determined woman of this morning already seemed like a stranger.

He ran a perplexed hand through his hair, and then understanding came into his eyes. "You thought Thad is my son."

"Isn't he?" she asked, confused.

He shook his head. "Scarlett. If you understood anything about me after the thirteen years of our acquaintance, you would know that I would never let a son of mine grow up away from me, in such obscurity. You were right that Thad is a Butler by birth, but not through me. He was sired by my younger brother Charles. Charles has never taken any interest in his bastard, so Belle asked me to be the boy's guardian after he was born. I felt sorry for the both of them, so I agreed, and have been providing for him ever since."

"He looks like you," she said, some part of her wanting to believe, but still feeling doubtful.

"People say Charles and I look enough alike as to be twins, although we are very different on the inside."

She sighed, almost convinced, but the relief this assertion should have accompanied failed to materialize. Instead, she felt empty, almost as emotionless as Rhett had seemed over the last year. Her visit to Belle's establishment, and especially seeing Rhett's room, had lifted the veil of the abstract from Rhett's other life, the life he had lead away from her, and brought it into a painful, tangible focus and reality. Her mind, always unsuited to the intangible and metaphorical, found his infidelities were no longer just words in her head she could ignore until tomorrow. They were associated with a place she knew. A broad staircase. A room.

A bed whose red covers she could still see if she closed her eyes.

Curiously, the violence of the scene, the murdered young woman, were almost an afterthought at this moment.

"Well then," she said with feigned indifference, shrugging her shoulders. "I did it all for nothing."

Compromised her reputation, probably beyond repair this time. Opened up her family to malicious gossip. For his ….nephew, that he apparently held in affection, nothing more.

How could she have so misread him?

He regarded her oddly. "I would not say for nothing. I've been Thad's guardian since he was born. I am very fond of him, and would hate to see him die. As would his mother."

Anger illuminated her face briefly. "I don't care what _she_ thinks." The picture of the room on Marietta Street came back, unbidden, and she shuddered. Had they lain together in that large bed? Had he …...had they ….

He silently watched the parade of emotions on her face, with something that looked like pity. She sighed.

All she had done, endured, only to garner more _pity_ from him.

Her proud neck stiffened, and she looked him directly in the eyes. "I am very tired Rhett. Dr. Harrison will be here soon, and I would like to get some rest before he comes. If there is nothing else ….."

His expression was unreadable, but he only nodded. "I will see you later." He turned, and left the room with all of his casual grace, closing the door behind him.

~~oo~~

Dr. Harrison had arrived immediately after the conclusion of the lunch-hour, examining his patient calmly and disinfecting and bandaging the wound once more. He seemed reasonably satisfied with the boy's condition, merely cautioning them to pay close attention to his fever and any signs of infection to the wound. He also left a powdered substance behind, that he had acquired from a local Native American tribe, made from tree-bark that he had found beneficial for fever.

Rhett took him into the drawing room afterwards to offer him a cigar and a taste of his stock of excellent Scotch, which the Doctor had graciously accepted. Rhett wondered briefly what this austere man thought of the vulgar opulence of his surroundings, but the doctor's face showed nothing but well-bred appreciation for his hospitality.

He inhaled slowly, commenting on the superior quality of the tobacco, which as he guessed was Cuban. He waved aside Rhett's thanks, stating that he owed Mrs. Butler a debt of gratitude for all she had done for his wife.

"Scarlett tells me you are from Boston," Rhett had commented politely. "I hope you are finding Atlanta to your liking."

The doctor nodded. "I was stationed here with my regiment, and after the war my wife joined me and found the city and the surrounding countryside agreeable, so we decided to stay." He took a sip of the amber liquid in his glass, and continued. "My wife is very young when we married, and it was difficult for her to find foothold in society without aide or guidance. Mrs. Butler has been most accommodating."

Rhett looked faintly surprised, but did not comment.

"A lovely young woman, Mrs. Butler, with the spirit and determination to run her own business," the doctor continued. "I have the greatest admiration for her, as does my wife."

"A little too much spirit and determination at times," Rhett grinned.

Dr. Harrison did not seem to understand his meaning. "There is much for a man to admire in the innocence and esprit of a young woman. My Cara was only nineteen when I married her, and had very little understanding of the world, or of what being married meant." His pale blue eyes were cool, but seemed filled with a specific meaning, hidden under the generalities of his conversation. "A young wife is a great trust, Captain Butler, as I am sure I do not need to tell you. We as their husbands are their example, their moral compass in life. They bring us their youth and beauty, and it is up to us, who are older and wiser, to guide them, to encourage the best in their nature by our own example, so they may learn to channel their vitality into wholesome ways that benefit their future happiness, and ours."

Rhett grimaced slightly.

He had certainly not encouraged the best in Scarlett's nature, or taught her to channel her vitality into wholesome ways by his example. Quite the opposite, if he was honest. He had spoiled her, encouraged her vanity and selfishness, and tried to make her depended on him in his attempts to gain her love, at a time when she had in truth been little more than an impressionable child.

He briefly experienced an unfamiliar emotion, guilt.

"None of which is necessary to impress on _you_, Captain Butler. With such a successful and kind-hearted wife, it is obvious how much she has benefitted from your superior guidance and example."

Although the doctor's tone was dripping with sincerity, Rhett had the distinct impression that he was being mocked in an underhanded, North-Eastern style.

"It is kind of you to say so," he drawled, with some amusement, exaggerating his own Charleston accent to the point of caricature.

"Not at all," the doctor replied cordially. "But I must take my leave. I will visit my patient again in the evening, but do not hesitate to call me at any time should his condition change." He bowed slightly, took his hat and overcoat from James and walked outside to his waiting carriage.

Rhett stayed behind, cigar in hand, and a strange, thoughtful smirk to his lips.

_Thank you very very much for all the lovely reviews, and I apologize for the extended hiatus (lots of back-to-back illnesses in the family and a European vacation are my excuse). It gets harder to write after a long break so I will just post this now as is. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, and am delighted with all the updating that has been happening. And yay that we have Dixie back!_


	6. Subterfuge

Disclaimers: As in the first chapter

Scarlett reappeared in Thad's room about an hour after Dr. Harrison had left, a somewhat sheepish expression on her face. Rhett's tall frame was lounging next to Prissy's chair, apparently in idle conversation with Officer Jones. They were all looking down at the boy.

"I must have fallen asleep again," she said to no one in particular.

"It was alright," Rhett offered amiably. "You obviously needed rest. Dr. Harrison didn't appear offended by your absence."

Thad's condition, to all outward appearances, was unchanged. His black eyes were still clouded, and there was an unhealthy flush to his swarthy skin, but he did not appear uncomfortable. Scarlett quizzed Prissy for a few minutes, then turned her attention to Officer Jones, whose taciturn nature had made him an inoffensive house-guest. Everyone agreed that the patient was still delirious, but at least did not appear to have worsened over the last few hours.

Officer Jones gratefully accepted her offer of a glass of water, and they all descended the large staircase together.

His superior, Chief Parker, arrived only fifteen minutes later, asking to speak to Rhett in private. Rhett showed him into the library and offered him both a drink and a cigar, which the other man politely declined.

"We are still working on finding out more about the identity of the young woman," the Chief started without preamble. "Miss Watling knew her first name, and that the boy brought her here from New Orleans, but little more. We are of course hoping that the boy will be able to help further the investigation once he is well enough to talk."

The blue flint chips regarded Rhett with professional urbanity, giving away nothing he did not wish to reveal.

"We also found footprints in the soft mud leading from the back door to the hedge. We are guessing the assailant tried to scale the wall to make his escape."

"Odd, considering the property is open to the front. Why go into the trouble of scaling the wall?"

"Not quite so odd, if the intruder wanted to avoid being met on the street."

"Point well taken," Rhett conceded. "Still, at that hour it seems highly unlikely anyone would have been there to see them."

"A late client, perhaps," the Chief replied. "It is a bordello, after all."

"Indeed."

"We are not even certain, at this point, who the real intended target was. Miss Watling informs us that the room where the boy and the young woman were shot was a room you personally own, and use occasionally. In the dark, the assailant may well have mistaken the boy for yourself. Given that you both have a very similar shape, and the same dark hair. "

Rhett nodded. It was clear the Chief had noted the family resemblance between himself and the boy, and it was equally clear he would not comment further on it at this time.

"You knew the boy," the Chief continued smoothly. It was not a question.

"Yes," Rhett replied briefly, not elaborating on the nature of the relationship. If the Chief wanted to know more, he would ask. "Although we have not seen much of each other for the last few years. I was not aware he was in Atlanta until Belle called for me last night."

"Are you aware of anyone who may have a grudge against him, or yourself?"

Rhett grinned slightly. "I am sure there are hundreds of people with rightful grudges against myself, and against Thad as well. It would take a long time to eliminate them all. But no, I can't think of any recent behavior of mine that anyone might take offense at. As for Thad, Belle said the girl he was with was the mistress of a gentleman he worked for. Perhaps the gentleman followed them here, although it is hard to imagine anyone going into so much trouble for a ….."

"We are of course keeping our eyes and ears open," the Chief said. "My brother-in-law, Carson Whitling, tells me there is a Negro in his gang of construction workers that has mentioned the name of Butler a few times when drunk, and in none to flattering a manner. We intend to bring him into the station tomorrow, and maybe confront him with you. And we have dispatched an Officer to New Orleans, to see what we can learn from the police over there."

The Chief's tone still betrayed nothing but civility when he continued. "And as a matter of routine, I must ask you were you were last night."

"My husband was with me all night. In our bedroom," a clear female voice called out from behind their backs.

Neither of the men had heard Scarlett's foot-steps approach, or the door open.

"Of course," Chief Parker said politely, unperturbed by the interruption "That is just as I had figured. But it is my duty to make no assumptions. I hope you will forgive me for the intrusion, Mrs. Butler."

"Of course," Scarlett answered, her expression laced with false brightness.

He turned to Rhett. "I will keep you updated on any findings we may have as to who may have committed this crime. But now I am afraid I must take my leave." He bowed politely, and conversed with Officer Jones for a few minutes before closing the heavy oak door behind him.

~~oo~~

"Why all the lies, Mrs. Butler?" Rhett asked, lightly.

"A fine thing if I allowed them to suspect my husband," she huffed.

He smiled fleetingly. "But they do not as of yet openly suspect me of anything, my dear. And you may have incriminated yourself needlessly in a business you knew nothing about."

"I heard most of your conversation with Chief Parker," she scowled, and then grinned slightly in spite of herself at his raised eyebrows. "Remember? Someone once told me that eavesdroppers often learn highly entertaining and instructive things. And James oiled the libary door hinges only yesterday. "

"No fears that I might really have fired that shot, and that you may find you are married to a murderer?"

"No," was the cross reply. "No matter what, I don't think you capable of….."

"I have killed before, as you are aware." She shot him a suspicious look. Of course, he had killed when necessity dictated it, as had she. He didn't mean...then she shook her head. "You can't make me believe you had anything to do with this."

He laughed. "As a matter of fact, I didn't, at least as far as I know. But tell me, Scarlett, won't our Officer Jones have wormed every detail about our personal life, including our sleeping arrangements, out of Prissy already?"

Scarlett shot him a look of deep contempt. "Prissy won't say a word. I sat down James before you arrived with Thad and told him if any one of the servants gabbed a word about, well, _anything_, to the police or the doctor, or anyone, there would be hell to pay. James is smart, and they do what he says. And Prissy isn't as dumb as you think, at any rate, she is very good at pretending to be stupid to get out of answering things she doesn't want to answer."

He was smiled something resembling his old sardonic grin. In fact, he looked as though he found her entertaining, a look that reminded her of the time before their marriage, before everything had gone so wrong between them. It was not altogether a flattering look, or one that conveyed that she knew what she was doing, or indeed had any insight at all into the workings of the world, but it pleased her nonetheless for the nostalgia it evoked. "I admire your foresight, Mrs. Butler."

She shrugged her shoulders. "It's about time you admired something I did, Rhett."

"I told you I admired you bringing your physician. At this rate, we may be setting a trend."

She looked at him suspiciously, certain she was being mocked again, but his face was all bland sincerity.

~~oo~~

Dr. Harrison arrived before dinner, handing his wife Caroline from the carriage. She ran lightly up the stairs to embrace Scarlett, and turned a bright, interested face up to Rhett upon being introduced to him. She told him she had heard much about him, and he smiled his most captivating smile at her impish charm. After the introductions were made, Scarlett pulled her into the drawing-room, leaving him alone with the doctor.

Rhett followed the doctor up the stairs to Thad's room. The boy's temperature had visibly risen again, but Dr. Harrison assured him this was normal in the evening hours. He changed his bandages, cleaned the wound with carbolic acid solution, and pronounced it clear of infection. His prognosis was muted, but not unhopeful.

After retiring briefly into the library, the two men slowly walked back into the drawing room, drinks in hand, to join the ladies. Both paused involuntarily at the open door, taking in the attractive scene before them. The two young women sat together on one of the settees in the front of the room by the fireplace, to all appearances in an animated discussion about their respective finishing schools, giggling as if they were indeed school-girls again. The flames cast a warm glow onto their faces, softening Cara Harrison's features and infusing Scarlett's ivory skin with a captivating rosy hue.

The doctor's wife was an arresting young woman with thick honey-colored ringlets and unusual grey eyes, and an air of vitality gentled by genuine sweetness. Her face was not untouched by sorrow, nor was her serenity the result of a conventional character lacking in daring. She had a taste for adventure unbroken by the early death of her parents; a trait that had caused her to throw in her lot with a well-travelled soldier much her senior in years and experience. It had also resulted in her falling in love with the bustling, youthful city her husband had brought her to, not least because it was so different from everything she had known.

But as she sat there, laughing with Scarlett as if she was all of fifteen again, Rhett realized she was in possession of a safety and security that Scarlett had always lacked, and that he himself had not been able to give her. It was the ageless laugh of a happy woman, not unlike the gleeful, high-spirited laugh that Bonnie had had and might even have retained into adulthood.

In contrast to her companion's blonde loveliness, Scarlett's dark beauty seemed feral and dangerous, and even the glow of the fire-light was unable to hide the fact that she was not in perfect health.

Rhett sighed. He recalled their earlier conversation about husbandly duties of guidance and protection towards a spirited young wife, and it was now obvious to him he had been a complete failure where the sparse doctor had succeeded beyond measure. He had had less to contend with, perhaps. Cara Harrison's vitality was perhaps not quite as overpowering as Scarlett's could be, and her heart had most likely had not been stubbornly set on another.

Yet the disconcerting thought would not leave him that he should have found a way to succeed despite the obstacles, that the blame for the direction their marriage had taken rightfully belonged much more squarely on his shoulders than hers, simply because he had been so much older, and supposedly more experienced.

And as before, he grimaced to himself.

They all spent a pleasant hour conversing about nothing in particular, and both doctor Harrison and his wife took their leave soon afterwards. Dr. Harrison promised to return in the morning.

~~oo~~

After dinner, Scarlett busied herself with the children until it was time for them to go to bed. Then, she herself retired to her room. She was seated at the vanity in her nightgown, slowly brushing her hair and contemplating the days' events, when she heard a soft knock. "Come in," she called.

Rhett stepped inside, firmly closing the door behind him. For some unknown reason, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Scarlett, but after what you said to Chief Parker I will have to stay here tonight. With Jones right across from my room it would be impossible to hide my comings and goings were I to sleep there."

"I know that," she muttered, icily. She attacked her hair with renewed vigor, brushing until sparks flew.

"Well then," he replied, his black eyes dancing with suppressed amusement. "If you have already considered the ramifications of your words, do enlighten me where I am to sleep tonight. The settee? The floor? " The impossibly white teeth flashed at her. "I am tame, Madame - pronounce."

"God's nightgown," Scarlett said, frowning. "Suit yourself. You can sleep in the bed for all I care. It's certainly big enough for the both of us, and I don't think the settee will be very comfortable for someone your size. It's quite narrow. "

She rose from the vanity and fluffed the pillows on the right side of the bed, slipping under the covers, her back against the cushions.

He considered her thoughtfully for a moment.

"And you needn't worry that I'll try to ….you know," she added even more crossly. "To tell you the truth Rhett, I am starting to think you may have been right. About us, I mean."

He walked over to the settee with perfect nonchalance and settled himself down. "Which of my many insightful utterances are you referring to, my dear? There are so many to chose from that even I occasionally lose track. That piecing together broken fragments is a fruitless exercise, perhaps?"

"No," she said, her eyebrows coming together over the ridge of her nose. "I didn't mean what you said to me when you first left Atlanta. I wouldn't call any of that in….insightful. I meant what you said to me the other morning, at the gazebo. " She noted he still looked puzzled. "You know. When you said that we can forgive things, but not forget."

"Ah," he said, flicking an invisible spot of dust from his suit. "And which of my numerous sins and transgressions do you find yourself unable to forget?"

She said nothing for a whole minute, and the silence stretched until he was almost certain she would not answer. "That room," she finally replied, her voice almost inaudible.

He nodded, apparently considering her words. "All right," he replied. "It is settled, then. I will stay here tonight. I promise I won't compromise your virtue."

He turned down the gas-lamp and slid under the covers next to her. Scarlett experienced a sudden, hot rush of triumph, and was thankful that the darkness hid the predatory expression in her eyes. For the first time in many years, they were sharing a bed again, and it was impossible not to feel exhilarated that he had fallen for such a primitive trap. But here he was. Sleep had restored her spirits and dissipated the disquieting numbness she had experienced earlier in the day. Although the image of the room still troubled her, she had found her determination to win Rhett back was as fierce and unbroken as ever. And now she had convinced him to come back into her bed by making him believe she was not as interested in a reconciliation as she had been. It was altogether encouraging.

But as she lay in the dark, she admitted to herself the moment was nothing like she had dreamed it would be, with him taking her into his arms, professing his love, kissing her.

"Certainly not the way I envisioned returning to your bed," he said in the dark, voicing her own thoughts with a sudden burst of humor.

She again felt an unbidden stab of hope, and the words tumbled out before she could stop herself. "You envisioned returning to my bed?"

He didn't reply immediately, then sighed. "Yes, Scarlett, after you banned me from your room I still held out hope for quite a while that you would miss me, and ask me to return. Call me a fool."

"I did miss you," she whispered, the darkness that hid her face adding fuel to her daring. "I missed you almost immediately after I said what I did and wished I could take it back. I was too proud…. And I was sure you would refuse me! Or….or make fun of me and make me pay."

She coughed suddenly, a violent burst that shook her whole frame.

"Yes, the way we were with each other it's hard to imagine how that conversation would have gone," he replied thoughtfully. "Not well, I assume. However, I appreciate knowing that you had some second thoughts, Scarlett. It's nice to know I was not quite as desperately foolish as I thought, even after all this time. " She could not see his face, but she could almost hear his wry grin in his voice.

"You were plenty foolish," Scarlett said, sleepily. "You know, Rhett, what really struck me is that you told me I only love what I can't have. But I only told someone I loved them twice in my life, and both times I was sure I was loved back. I finally realized you loved me for all those years when I walked home from Melly's house that night, and I was so excited to tell you I loved you I ran all the way home. It never occurred to me that you'd refuse me, or that you'd tell me you no longer loved me. I wanted you thinking you wanted me too. I'm the real fool, not you, because I can never see what's in my heart or in front of my nose, but you're the one who ran when they finally had what they said they wanted. "

He chuckled softly. "That was almost a philosophical treaty, Scarlett." But even in her sleepy state, she could tell he was surprised.

She felt even more drowsy. She should sleep before she said anything else, something that he would laugh at.

"Good night Rhett." She was soundly asleep almost before the words had left her lips.

~~oo~~

Rhett woke up in the early hours of the morning after a fitful night, frequently interrupted by Scarlett's coughing. Listening to the violence of those attacks, he found himself wondering how she managed to get any sleep at all.

In sleep, she had pressed up against his frame, seeking the safety and shelter of his warmth. One of his arms was slung loosely around her waist. He did not move, cherishing the quiet of the night and the warm verbana scent of her hair, allowing the peace of holding her to ebb and crest inside his chest. For a brief, suspended moment, he was in New Orleans again, just after they were married, and he was holding his young bride in his arms, tired after a night of dancing or lovemaking. He allowed himself to wonder whether his younger self would have been able to change the course of things to come, had he known what he knew now.

He knew that the many events of the past twenty-four hours were shifting and changing the paths their respective futures could plausibly take, narrowing them down to just a few. He saw some things clearly, while others were still shrouded in mist. He considered Scarlett's recent choices, some made from rashness, others from ignorance, but all made with a desire to protect him, whatever ulterior motives might have driven her. And it was certain that the boy owed his chance at life to her reckless determination.

He closed his eyes, resting his chin on her dark head, trying to push the painful thoughts from his mind. Tomorrow would come all too quickly.

_Thanks for the wonderful reviews, they mean a lot. :-) I hope the details are not overly confusing. I appreciate hearing your thoughts!_


	7. Treading Upon Sharp Knives

_"I know what you want," said the sea witch; "it is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish's tail, and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you, and that you may have an immortal soul." And then the witch laughed so loud and disgustingly, that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground, and lay there wriggling about. "You are but just in time," said the witch; "for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the end of another year. I will prepare a draught for you, with which you must swim to land tomorrow before sunrise, and sit down on the shore and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow. - Hans Christian Andersen: The Little Mermaid_

* * *

Scarlett's cough had eased in the early hours of the morning, and they finally fell into an exhausted slumber. When they awoke, golden sunlight was already filtering through the heavy red brocade curtains, caressing the hard planes of Rhett's face and casting warm highlights over Scarlett's rich, dark hair. Drifting back from dreamless sleep, Scarlett lifted her heavy head from a broad, matted chest, consciously noting her body's nightly migration to his side, and into his arms, for the first time.

She blushed a color even deeper than her name when she realized how their limbs were entangled, and how very intimately her hip was pressed against his front.

"Sorry," she mumbled, mortified, yet somehow unable to bring herself to pull away.

The truth was, she didn't want to move. Her arms and legs, indeed her entire body, felt warm, and comfortable, and relaxed. She hadn't felt this way in years.

Rhett didn't answer, but made no effort to dislodge her. They remained thus entangled for several minutes in luxurious, half-awake contentment, as they had many times in the early part of their marriage before Bonnie was born - and then never again.

When she finally had the courage to look into his face, she was startled by its expression. There was desire in his enigmatic dark eyes, albeit battling with fatigue and caution. He wanted her, and, perhaps most surprisingly of all, he made no attempt to hide it behind his usual bland façade.

Gathering her courage, she whispered: "If you want, we can …. I mean, if we ….I wouldn't expect you to…."

Rhett started at the unexpected words. Gazing down, he saw that for once it was an honest offer, an offer to feed his hunger and maybe her own without demanding declarations of love. Perhaps he shouldn't be as surprised as he felt. While he had had ample opportunities for diversions outside of the marriage bed, the same was not true for her. She could not have lain with a man since …..

He pushed away the memories of that wild night, finding that particular train of thought not very conductive to his resolve.

Almost exactly three years, he couldn't prevent his swift brain from calculating nonetheless. Three years to the day.

They'd both lived a lifetime in those three years. Become completely estranged. Lost a child. Lost a friend. Separated. Lived apart. And now -

"I appreciate the offer, Scarlett", he said sincerely, "and it would be futile to deny that I'm tempted, seeing how we are currently …situated." She blushed again, looking so beguilingly innocent that he wondered how he'd be able to resist her. "But things are already complicated enough as they are, don't you agree?"

She nodded, unable to help feeling rejected, and turned her head. Sensing her body's sudden rigidity, he stretched out his hand and gently turned back her face. She intuited his lip's approach more than seeing it, and the sudden, unfamiliarly familiar softness of him startled her. There was a drumming sound in her ears, and a drowning sensation overcame her, like a sailor clinging to a final piece of driftwood before submerging into the sea.

As if floodgates of memory had opened, she suddenly recognized his taste, his scent, the touch of his tongue, sensations that were uniquely _him_, and for the thousand's time cursed herself for those life-altering five minutes during which she had banned him from her bed. He was right, she had been a child, a silly child, to give up kisses such as these! And now, after all these years, he was kissing her again, and it felt heavenly.

But as she tried to respond, she couldn't help but feel clumsy and awkward. How long had it been that she had kissed a man? Kissed him? Years. How her former girl-hood rivals would laugh if they knew …

Strangely enough, it seemed as if he was has hesitant as she, as if he, too, was reclaiming unfamiliar territory and was unsure of the reception. Perhaps, she thought to herself, one didn't kiss whores. And inappropriately enough, the thought made her giggle, a short, nervous sound, but a giggle nonetheless.

He seemed surprised, but she felt his smile against her lips.

"I suspect it has been awhile for both of us."

And then he kissed her again, and it was no longer awkward. What started as a tentative exploration was suddenly a maelstrom of dark energy, pulling them down, fusing their lips together, freeing their hands to probe, and touch, and grind themselves closer as conscious thought left and instinct took over.

At the very last moment he pulled himself away. Looking down into her flushed face, he stilled his erratic breathing with an effort, and managed to smile wryly.

"You're a tempting little morsel my pet, even to those that have every reason to know better."

She glared balefully at him through her sooty lashes, but managed to bite back the tart reply that rose to her lips.

He waited for a few heartbeats to see if she would take the bait, and when it became clear she would not, he merely tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and pinched her cheeks lightly. Then he put on the clothes he had discarded last night, and left.

She remained motionless on the large bed, unsure what, if anything, had changed between them.

~~oo~~

He paused in the darkness of the hallway, his mind going over the scene in Scarlett's bedroom this morning. He had not intended to kiss her, and he was surprised to find he didn't regret it. She'd been exquisitely responsive, even more so than during that other night, confirming his long-held belief in her sensual potential if she ever got past her inhibitions – or rather, shed her obsession with a certain honorable gentleman.

The thought of Ashley made him grimace, as it always did, and any softer thoughts fled from his mind. He mentally shrugged his shoulders. It had just been a kiss, after all.

He checked on Thad, who looked somewhat better this morning. His skin was cooler, and his color had improved. Prissy, in her shrill soprano, reported that she had been able to feed him almost a whole bowl of chicken soup. After conversing with Officer Jones for a few minutes, Rhett left to go get breakfast. He made a mental note to tell James to move some of his clothes back into Scarlett's room when Jones was downstairs. Now THAT would be an interesting conversation.

It was only then that he saw Wade, sitting on a bench in the nursery at the very end of the hall. Rhett could see his slumped form clearly through the half-opened door, an unnatural pose for any twelve-year old to hold.

He had the volume of Andersen's Fairy Tales on his lap that Rhett had brought from England for the children. Ella and Bonnie had always loved the story of the Little Mermaid, and forced Rhett to read it to them over and over again.

So he had read it, sarcasm creeping into his voice at inopportune times.

Perhaps the problem was that he sympathized with the little Sea Creature. Being forced by circumstances to remain silent about your desperate love was indeed like walking on knives.

Rhett stepped into the nursery, a room he usually avoided. Scarlett had moved Bonnie's things out of his room after he'd first left, moving her bed and her dolls back into the corner of the nursery where they had first stood. She had then gone to exchange all of the furniture and even the curtains in his room, making it as impersonal as a hotel suite.

Although she had not consulted him he'd been strangely grateful. At least he wasn't assaulted by memories every time he opened the door to his bedroom.

But now, seeing the small bed by the window, he winced. And on the large armchair where he used to read to the children lay a large striped cat, a grown-up and lazy version of the straggly kitten Bonnie had brought back from Charleston. It regarded him through slit-like eyes, causing his heart to contract with sadness again.

"Wade." The children had gotten somewhat lost in the chaos that had descended on the household with Thad's arrival, mainly being told to be quiet and stay out of the way. And Prissy, who usually minded them, was busy nursing Thad. Rhett felt a sting of remorse.

"Wade."

The boy lifted a listless face, and then dropped it back into his hands without replying. He had his father's soft brown eyes and brown curls, but he also possessed more than a hint of his mother's stubborn streak.

"What's wrong, son?"

Wade pointed to the door, out into the hallway. "Who is the boy Uncle Rhett? Is he ...…_your _boy?"

Rhett hesitated, then opted for the truth. "No. But he was my…..ward…..when he was growing up."

"What's a… ward?"

"Someone that isn't your father, but takes care of you. Like …...a stepfather," Rhett replied, choosing an analogy he hoped Wade would understand.

"Why is he here?"

Apparently, the inquisition was not over. The boy would make a fine lawyer when he was grown.

"He was hurt, and he had nowhere else to go."

"He was the boy you were thinking about when Bonnie was born," Wade said, with determination. "I _knew_ you were thinking of some other boy."

Rhett cast his mind back to that discussion. The details were hazy at best, but not to Wade, apparently.

"Do you see him? Do you go visit him where he lives?"

"Not for a long time, Wade. I haven't seen him for years." Too late, Rhett realized that Wade wasn't looking for reassurance about his own relative importance over Thad. Wade's next words confirmed his suspicions.

"You left him, too." Wade said. "Just like you left me."

"I didn't leave you, Wade. I….."

"You never left Bonnie. You would _never _have left her. But you left us. Me, and Ella, and …..him. " His eyes, so unlike Scarlett's, were still staring at him with pent-up resentment. "I guess Bonnie is the only one you really liked."

Rhett shook his head. "No, Wade. That isn't true. I …"

But the boy had turned back to his book with finality.

~~oo~~

In the kitchen, he found Elsa, Scarlett's German cook, entertaining Ella.

Elsa had never been overly found of Rhett, a sentiment shared by most of Scarlett's newer staff and, apparently, her son as well.

"Gut morning," Elsa muttered in reply to his greeting. Her expression would have curdled new milk.

He stroked Ella's head, wondering if she, too, harbored thoughts of resentment towards him. He suspected she didn't – the small face was still turned towards him with child-like adoration – but he guessed it would not be long before she, too, would take on a different opinion about his role in her life.

Half-heartedly, he asked about breakfast.

"We haff no more pancakes," Elsa informed him with what he suspected was silent glee. "And we haff no more bacon. We haff se old bread from yesterday with butter and strawberry jam."

He didn't much care for strawberry jam – or old bread for that matter - as he suspected Elsa knew well. But he was hungry, so he accepted a slice of bread with a boiled egg and coffee, talking to Ella while he ate. She seemed cheerful and happy to be allowed to play all day without anyone telling her to practice her lessons.

Chief Parker arrived half an hour later to pick him up for the station. The carriage rolled slowly through the familiar streets, but Rhett, his mind occupied by the events of the morning, took in very little of his surroundings.

Chief Parker, who had been making polite chit-chat, fell silent when he noted his companion's lack of responsiveness and seemed content to gaze out of the window as well.

They entered the makeshift police station that had been erected in one of the abandoned warehouses on Decatur Road while the original building was being renovated. When they entered, it was the smells that hit Rhett like a physical assault; smells of sweat, and urine, and fear. Rhett had an unpleasant flash-back to the camps during the war, to his time in the Yankee prison, which had smelled much as this. His impulse to leave grew stronger.

Yet he stood quietly and waited in the seeming chaos but actual order of the Chief's overflowing office, while a young man in uniform was sent to fetch the prisoner the Chief had wanted him to meet.

A few minutes later, they brought in a handcuffed black man. He was chewing tobacco, and spit out casually at the sight of Rhett. He was tall and muscular, with depthless dark eyes not unlike Rhett's own. He had a pleasant face, creased with laugh-lines, and an astute observer would have suspected that frowning, as he did now, was something he did not do often.

"I don't remember ever having seen him before", Rhett said, honestly, after studying him briefly.

"This is Sal. He works for my sister's husband, who overheard him make some remarks about you. He swears you shot and killed his brother-in-law when you were back in Atlanta after the war."

Rhett raised his eyebrows in quizzical surprise.

"I recall there was an incident outside of a local barroom for which you were charged, and briefly imprisoned, by the Yankee government," Chief Parker stated. "With regards to the shooting of a Negro. Sal here"- he pointed to the black man in handcuffs - "is the brother-in-law of the man who was shot. I gather they never did find out who committed the crime."

Rhett and the man called Sal stared at each other for another brief moment in silence.

"Well?" the Chief said finally. "What have you go to say for yourself, Sal?"

"Ah din' see it but ah knows it wuz this man that killed 'im," the black man stated, evenly. "Ah knows fer a fact Jim had a mouth on 'im, and Ah knows what he sometimes say to white wimmin when 'e was in 'is cups wuzn't right. But it wuz bad times back then. We'd all just been freed but there wuz no work. We were starvin' an' there was nuthin' to eat. My sister 'ad five chillen and when 'he died they had nobody to take care of them no more."

He gave Rhett a level stare, his pleasant face now hard and contemptuous. "My famly takes care of our own, Captain Butler. We done raised those chillen an' they'll live in a better world than Jim did an' make 'em proud. But it ain't easy to make yo way with no father to look after you. You done tore their family apart over somethin' a man said when 'e was drunk and desprat, never mindin' he was a good man with people dependin' on 'im. You could have done lots of things ter put 'im in 'is place but you done shot 'im and you took 'im from 'er and from the chillen and from his Momma who still ain't over it neither."

Rhett didn't reply. He looked at the other man, and his expression, had Scarlett been there to witness it, wasn't unlike it had been that night Atlanta burned, and he had watched the young soldier struggle and fall under too heavy a burden. It was that same look of blinding, desperate insight he had as he now looked into that black face, an insight just as chilling in its emotional intensity, albeit diametrically opposed in content.

This insight negated the other, wiping whatever nobility may have been attached to his eleventh hour enlistment - save only one, and even that had been eroded by time and subsequent events to ethereal nothingness. It was futile to deny that all Causes he had ever fought for had been lost, in more ways than one.

He felt empty. It was a different kind of emptiness than he had carried around as a mantle after Bonnie's death. That emptiness had been the absence of emotion. This emptiness had claws, and knifes.

"I'm sorry," Rhett said, so softly that the other man could barely catch the words.

"I can't fergive you," the other man replied, not even particularly unkindly. "Ah belive that's not fer me ter fergive, but for 'im." He pointed skyward. "But Ah's never 'armed you or yours, and ah don't intends to start."

The silence sank again, this time with an air of finality. The young officer led the prisoner away.

Chief Parker broke the reverie. "I'm inclined to believe him," he said, "and I have no interest in what may or may not have happened to some uppity darky before this administration was even in place. But unfortunately, it means we're back to square one when it comes to our suspects." He sighed. "I hope we will learn something from New Orleans, or …."

Rhett nodded absent-mindedly, the pallor still very visible under his dark skin. It had been a day of reckoning for him – days of reckoning, if one counted the more underhanded but no less successful accusations Dr. Harrison had leveled at him with regards to Scarlett. He needed time to think.

He declined the offer of a carriage ride home, and instead slowly walked through the dusty streets of Atlanta. He had no particular fondness for the city – he had only returned here in the past because it housed Scarlet – but here he was again, deaf and blind to the youthful bustle of a restless people eager to hold on to their meager gains in the midst of the recession.

His steps up Peachtree Street took him past First Baptist Church, and suddenly, on impulse, he walked down the narrow path, opened the door and stepped into the coolness of the interior. He had been an atheist for decades, gradually shedding the remnants of his religious upbringing as he had shed the mores of society. He had seen too much grief and injustice to believe in a benevolent deity, and he didn't intend to start now.

But for some inexplicable reason he now lingered in the shadows of the church, staring at the simple white altar in the semi-darkness.

Behind the altar was a stained glass window of some craftsmanship, depicting the pivotal scene in paradise where Eve hands Adam the apple, the serpent mockingly wrapped around the tree in the background. Below the scene, painted into a rising, then falling bow, were words. "Eritis sicut dii, scientes bonum et malum"._ You will become like God._

For most of his existence, he had steered clear of guilt, and of its clogging companion, regret. He had refused to believe in absolute mores or absolute values, and refused to be guided by society's dictates. He was forty-six now – no longer a young man.

In the semi-darkness, Rhett sighed. He had been right to reject some of society's edicts. Wrong to embrace others. And worst of all, he had to admit that the choice to embrace, or reject, had been guided by self-interest and vanity, and not by compassion.

And for the first time since Bonnie's death, his eyes were moist with tears.

When he came out into the sunlight, he noted a beggar woman slouched by the gate, rose bushes ranking above her face.

He dug in his pocket and gave her whatever money he found. It felt like a woefully inadequate gesture.

* * *

_I always wondered about Rhett's casualness with regards to that murder – his readiness in shooting someone who was "uppity to a lady" which he, as a "Southern Gentleman", had to avenge by death. I'm not sure he did it merely because the other guy was black – after all, he mentions just as recklessly shooting a Yankee soldier, and he always craved Mammy's respect. But he never openly rejects slavery, despite his obvious intelligence and ability to recognize people of worth. He is still a product of his upbringing there, unwilling or unable to take that final step._

_Rhett was clearly able to see past society's stereotypes when it comes to gender roles. He's ahead of his time there: his money sets up three women in business, Scarlett, Belle and Mrs. Merriwether's bakery, and he has no objection to Scarlett working. So I think he could be made to see the injustice of slavery, and the injustice of his own actions in taking a life when not strictly necessary, if faced with them - as he is here._

_Just like Helen, I believe Rhett got away way too easily after Melly's death, and needs to pass through fire, either literally as in Dixie's wonderful story "Where all Roads End", or metaphorically, as in others. And of course, I need a line-up of potential suspects for the shooting._

_The Little Mermaid was translated into English in 1872, so it's not completely unlikely that Rhett got ahold of a copy. And to those of you that know the Disney version, it's actually a terribly sad story, the Prince marries someone else and the Mermaid dies, unable to ever proclaim her love._

_And again, thank you for your reviews. Each and every one of your words always brighten my day._


	8. As Red As Blood

_Disclaimer: as in the first chapter_

* * *

_It was the middle of winter, and the snow-flakes were falling like feathers from the sky, and a queen sat at her window working, and her embroidery-frame was of ebony. And as she worked, gazing at times out on the snow, she pricked her finger, and there fell from it three drops of blood on the snow. And when she saw how bright and red it looked, she said to herself, "Oh that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the embroidery frame!" Not very long after she had a daughter, with a skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony. - Brothers Grimm, Collected Fairy Tales, Snow White_

Scarlett awoke some hours later to a loud knock on the door. She blinked a few times. How late was it? Had she fallen asleep again?

"Miz Scarlett! Ma Ma's here!" Prissy's shrill soprano, barely muted by the thick wood, almost broke at top pitch from excitement.

Memory came slowly flooding back. Due to all the disturbing events, Scarlett had almost forgotten Suellen's telegram last week, heralding the arrival of Pork's family from Tara in anticipation of Prissy's confinement.

Her mind now completely unfogged, Scarlett experienced a sudden rush of joy. She couldn't wait to see Dilcey again. Dilcey - the closest thing to a maternal figure left in her life after Mammy's death, and one of the few remaining ties to her life before the war, and to the girl she had been. Who had held her one night at Tara, not very long ago, when she had sobbed her heart out about Rhett's abandonment. Who had petted her, and comforted her, and assured her he'd be back; that no man in his right mind left a woman like her forever. How she hoped it was true!

As luck would have it, Prissy came in with a large package in her hand, reporting that two of her new green dresses had arrived from the dressmaker that day. After discarding the wrapping, Scarlett fingered the soft green velvet with satisfaction. At least she would no longer look like a scarecrow. Indeed, last night's rest and her long morning nap had removed some of the pallor from her cheeks, and returned some of the old sparkle to her eyes. Or perhaps, it had not been just the sleep, but waking up in Rhett's arms, and his kiss that had improved her appearance. At the thought the color in her cheek heightened even further, and rarely-seen dimples appeared on either side.

When Prissy finished fastening the last of the many hooks at the back of the dress, Scarlett viewed her likeness with a half-forgotten pleasure. The dress was smartly cut to draw attention to her tiny waist and still ample bosom, high enough for propriety but low enough to hint at the alluring shadows beneath her decollete. Her skin gleamed like ivory, if she did say so herself. She swept up her hair, allowing a few tendrils to curl enticingly against her chest. She bit down firmly on her lips as a finishing touch. As white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as ebony.

"Take that, Rhett Butler", she, said, smirking one last time at her reflection. He had almost given in to her this morning, and she would see to it that his resolve was further weakened. And after all, he would sleep in her room again tonight, and…...well, the possibilities were endless.

A tuneless song on her lips and a myriad of schemes in her eyes, that would have amused Rhett had he seen them, she descended down the long staircase to greet the new arrivals.

Dilcey and Pork stood in the hallway, surrounded by luggage. Scarlett ran forward, warm anticipation in her expression. Pork, who grew ever more dignified with each passing year, shook her hand with equal affection. Dilcey, who had been in the midst of a most promising spat with Elsa, turned at the sound of her voice, and smiled broadly. Scarlett abandoned propriety and threw herself into her arms, with Pork looking on fondly, and Elsa wearing her most sour expression of many.

Scarlett didn't care. She loved being held as if she were still a little girl. She breathed in, and out. Dilcey smelled of sun, and bread, and home.

"It's good to be back," Dilcey said, softly, finally distangling herself. "You're looking well, Miss Scarlett. Better'n when I saw you last." She smiled again, her white teeth flashing against her dramatic reddish-brown skin. "I see Mista Rhett is here. I'm sure that helps."

She had apparently not forgotten their conversation at Tara either.

Scarlett grimaced, more pressing thoughts currently occupying her mind. "A lot happened in the last few weeks. Make sure you talk to James before you talk to ….. anyone else. He'll explain."

The other woman nodded, thoughtfully, picking up on the sudden tension in Scarlett's shoulders.

James' arrival at just that moment made further explanations unnecessary. He greeted his in-laws with good cheer, took Dilcey's bags, and bade them accompany him to their quarters. Scarlett had no doubt he would fill them in quickly and expertly before they had a chance to run into Thad – or, for that matter, Officer Jones. She smiled as she remembered how firmly set Dilcey had been against the marriage. In Scarlett's opinion, dim-witted Prissy had done much better for herself than anyone could have expected.

As she turned, Scarlett took in the high-pitched voices of Wade and Ella outside, running about with Pork and Dilcey's younger children. Scarlett sighed. They had very few playmates aside from Beau Wilkes, and were probably lonely most of the time. Perhaps she _should _send them to school.

She made her way up the staircase and into the boy's room. She sent Prissy downstairs to greet her mother, and talked briefly to Officer Jones. Glancing at Thad, she decided he looked almost normal this morning. The flush had gone from his cheeks, and he appeared to be resting comfortably.

"He woke up for a few minutes earlier today when your maid was feeding him," the young officer offered. "Didn't say anything, though."

At the sound of his voice, the boy twitched again, and suddenly, his black eyes opened widely. He looked around blankly, and his confused gaze fell on Scarlett. Even in this border-country between sleep and wakefulness his eyes, so much like Rhett's, took on an appreciative gleam at the sight of her face. Seconds later, they were unabashedly sweeping over her figure.

"Well, hello there! A sight to wake up to, I declare! Who're you?"

Scarlett laughed in spite of herself. Impudence was apparently a family trait. "Scarlett Butler."

"Uncle Rhett's Scarlett? Is this Uncle Rhett's house? What am I doing in ….." his expression sobered, as memories came flooding back. "I was at mother's place, with Tasha ….." He caught the feeling expression on Scarlett's face, and winced. "I remember ….."

"There'll be time for that later," Scarlett said, firmly, shooting a warning glance at Officer Jones.

Thad nodded. With an effort, he withdrew his mind from the disquieting pictures in his mind and focused on his hostess. Apparently, Scarlett thought somewhat sourly, he also shared his uncle's gift for dissimulation of inconvenient emotions. She suddenly wondered if he had any idea just _how_ close his uncle Rhett and his mother had been.

Or still were, perhaps. For all she knew he was still visiting that …creature. She worked hard not to scowl.

"Did Uncle Rhett bring me here? Mighty good of you to have me," he said, frankly. "And I can understand why he didn't introduce us before. If I had such a lovely wife, I wouldn't have introduced me either." He smiled winningly. "Thaddeus Watling. Now that I've met you, I will be forever at your service, my lady."

Scarlett laughed again, her vanity flattered by the unabashed admiration of such a young boy. "Yes, your uncle Rhett brought you here. We didn't feel it would be a good idea to leave you at your mother's house," she said, with just the appropriate hint of aunt-ly reproach for his forwardness. "I don't know if you remember, but you were shot. You've been unconscious for several days."

"From the way my head feels, I believe it," Thad declared, touching his hair gingerly. "And someone musta put a poker through my chest." He looked around, noticing Officer Jones for the first time. "Hullu! And who're you?"

Scarlett introduced the officer, stating he was here for his safety. "More likely to make sure I don' skip," Thad replied, grinning. He seemed to have at least some experience with the law. "Where _is_ Uncle Rhett?"

"At the police station, interviewing a potential suspect for the shooting," Scarlett replied. "At least, that's what I think he was going to do. I slept rather late this morning, and he was gone when I got up."

"That's Uncle Rhett for you," Thad agreed, cheerfully. "I never knew when he was going to show up, growin' up. In fact, haven't seen the old man around in a while. Not since he visited me with …."

He stopped himself, realizing this line of conversation was less than felicitous. At the expression on Scarlett's face, he winced. "I am such a bumbling oaf. My condolences, my lady," he said, awkwardly. "She was such a lovely little girl, Bonnie was. I heard from mother what happened."

So Rhett had introduced him to Bonnie when they were in New Orleans. Another indication she had known nothing, nothing at all about the real Rhett the entire time they were married. And Bonnie had never mentioned meeting him. Had she forgotten? Had Rhett told her to keep it a secret? Why?

She nodded. "I will have the servants bring up more food. You haven't been able to eat anything but broth since you came here. And my doctor will be by shortly."

"I feel ravenous," the boy confessed, frankly. "I could eat a horse."

He tossed his head, and a lock of his curly dark hair escaped over his brow, making him look as dashing as young pirate.

She laughed. He really _was_ charming. "I will be back."

It was odd, she thought, that he didn't even seem overly distressed over the death of the girl, or the fact that he had almost died. He seemed so young and heedless, content to take life as it came. Accepting its losses and its gains. The appreciative look on Thad's face had been so very like the bold, undressing stare Rhett had given her from the bottom of the stairs at Twelve Oaks. As she descended the staircase, she suddenly wondered if this was how Rhett had been, before things had happened to him. He too had been young. Invulnerable. Full of life.

Before _she_ had happened to him. Before loving her - and losing Bonnie - broke him.

~~oo~~

At the bottom of the stairs, lost in her musings, she almost bumped into the object of her reverie. A dusty, unkempt, sweat-streaked Rhett, who looked like he'd been walking for miles in the hot sun.

He reached out to steady her, but she continued to stare at him with a faintly dazed expression, as if she was unsure if he was real or simply a manifestation of her morose thoughts. Never had he looked more broken than at this very moment.

Whatever it had been that had held him - barely - upright after his life had lost its meaning – was gone.

"The boy – I mean, Thad - is awake," she babbled quickly, hoping this bit of good news would rouse him back into this world. "He looks good, and is asking to eat. I think his fever is all gone. I think …..he'll be ok."

He seemed not to hear her, but nodded after an infinitesimal pause.

"He fancies me," she added, desperately wanting to inject some lightness into the bottomless void of his eyes.

She was rewarded with the barest flicker of a gleam.

"Thad has always had a taste for troublesome females."

His eyes now took her in for the first time, and she preened slightly on the first stair, for his benefit. "I see the new dresses came. An improvement over the black."

She sighed. Would it kill him to tell her she looked nice? "I was going to send James with a message to …. his mother."

His large hand ran lightly over the top of the railing. "That is kind of you, Scarlett. I am sure Belle will be grateful."

A thousand images from the past crowded into the space between them. A thousand regrets.

"I hate that you had to go to her," she whispered, suddenly. "I hate that she knows more about you than I do. I hate that you ever touched her, or lived there. And most of all, I hate that it's my fault. That I – that I _drove_ you to it."

The old hardness didn't return to his face, nor was there even a hint of accusation, or triumph at her confession. It seems that even her most grievous sins were of little moment to whatever was eating at him. Or perhaps, she thought even more morosely, he simply didn't care.

"Pork and Dilcey are here," she offered finally, when the silence became too painful. He didn't seem to hear her. His hand stretched out, as if involuntarily, skimming the top of her dress and the gentle slope of her breasts underneath.

She stood transfixed, frozen under his touch.

She wondered briefly if he saw her, or just the animal oblivion she represented. If she was herself, Scarlett, or just the shadows of her breasts. She didn't care. His blind, gentle fingers were creating sparks as they dragged along, molding, tracing. His other hand found her waist, and drew her flush against him in the dark silence. And then his lips were on hers - warm, soft, probing lips, sending shivers all the way down to her toes, assaulting her senses, leaving her weak and giddy.

Just when she was sure she would faint, he stopped, and pulled himself away. She shuddered under his gaze, filled with arousal and fear in equal measure.

His hand pinched her chin, and touched his lips to her ear a brief second before ascending up the stairs. The stiff hairs of his mustache tickled her sensitive skin, and his breath lit her bare shoulders. Then he was gone.

Her eyes followed him, her fogged mind already replaying his parting whisper.


	9. In the Morning

_Thank you very much for the wonderful reviews. The next chapter is shorter, and it contains a style-shift – as y'all know I love playing with different styles. So this is a new one, and I'm not sure it works. Let me know._

_Warning: Mature-ish content, perhaps just a tad more mature-ish than usual._

* * *

She arrived back in Thad's room fifteen minutes later with a tray laden with cold meats, cheese and bread. Elsa the Cook had reluctantly agreed to open her stores for the invalid and assembled a meal for him, muttering darkly to herself in the process.

'_What sort of person he eezz, we know.' _

She made much more noise than necessary putting together the tray, clattering the plate and the utensils with vigor. Had Scarlett possessed a sense of the absurd, she might have laughed. As it was, she only rolled her eyes in a sudden gesture reminiscent of a much younger girl, grabbed the tray from the older woman, and turned back up the stairway. She chose her steps carefully – even after all these years the horror of her fall was stored somewhere in the depth of her unconsciousness, and she paused unthinkingly when she passed over the landing.

_Shooting pain. Blood. Calling over and over in her mind for Rhett, who never came._

She had to take a deep breath before she was able to continue. Her straightforward nature rarely clung to grudges, and she had forgiven him long ago for his lack of support. Forgiving herself had been harder.

She heard the laughter floating out of the boy's room: a high tenor and then a rich baritone that made her heart first stop, then skip forward in an unfamiliar rhythm.

_Later._

She was met by a charming, domestic scene. Rhett was standing casually by the boy's bed, looking down at him, and Thad was grinning widely in response to whatever his uncle had just said. There was an air of familiarity and ease between them, and her heart briefly contracted with envy. They both looked up when she came through the door - Thad frankly appreciatively, her husband with a more inscrutable expression.

'There's your lovely wife,' Thad said, brightly. 'And bearing food, too! Really, Uncle Rhett, it wasn't right to keep such a fair vision hidden from mine eyes 'til today. Although I surely don't blame you.' His eyes alighted on the plate with interest, and his smile became even wider. 'Thank you for everything, my lovely lady.'

Scarlett set the tray down next to him on his bedside table. He was sitting up, his back propped with pillows, and with her help gently maneuvered the tray onto his knees. "I may be too weak to eat," he said, batting his long lashes and casting his soft, coal-black eyes on her imploringly. "After all, I am barely recovered. _Someone_ may have to feed me…."

'Don't push your luck too far,' Rhett murmured with more than a hint of his former acerbity, his lip twisting into a smirk. Thad winked at him.

Scarlett felt tempted to roll her eyes again. Men - she didn't understand any of them. Belle Watling – this boy's mother! – had said her son had wanted to marry the girl who had died in his arms. And here he was. Joking and flirting as if nothing were amiss. And Rhett, who had looked so broken and forlorn just minutes ago on the bottom of the stairs now seemed miraculously improved, smiling even, bantering back and forth with the boy.

Masks. The bane of her life.

She didn't see the desperate bravado that united them, the inbred fortitude that had permitted them to survive dire circumstances, drawing strength from the pretense of normalcy even when there was no normalcy left to be found in the world. She also did not guess that they had communicated much more than had been voiced aloud. That Thad had noted her anxious glance at Rhett, the subtle stiffness in her posture when she turned towards him. That Rhett had caught the hidden grief in the boy's eyes. That laughter could hide tears was incomprehensible to her simplicity, and she frowned, pursing her pretty red lips.

'Here will I dwell, for heaven be in these lips, and all is dross that is not Helena,' the boy pronounced after a mouthful of cheese, his tone caught mid-way between ardent fervor and an impudent giggle.

Rhett laughed- a loud, honest laugh that boomed across halls long unused to merriment. 'Thad, my boy,' he gasped, 'you have the most uncanny ability to hit the nail on the proverbial head. _Dr. Faustus_ it is._ Her lips suck forth my soul…'_

His younger twin grinned. 'Uncle Rhett,' he said reprovingly, shaking his perfectly formed dark locks back and forth and making them dance. 'You don't quote _that_ part when you want to impress a lady. I've found they …. take it the wrong way.' For all the mock solemnity of his manner he attacked the food with all the fervor of a hungry boy snatched from the brink of death, chewing large mouthfuls at once.

'Scarlett won't take it the wrong way,' Rhett smiled, glancing at her. 'Will you, my pet?'

The entire conversation, including the context of the insult, had floated right over her head. However, she _did _understand quite clearly that Rhett had been making one of his old barbs at her expense. Her spine stiffened. _Rhett Butler would not be disrespectful of her again._ Her fierce animal magnetism, long dormant, suddenly sprang back in full force. Her cheeks flushed with it. Her green eyes crackled with purpose. She deliberately turned the full beam of her charm on the unsuspecting boy, fluttering her lashes even more cunningly than he had minutes earlier, and giving a soft sigh, taking care to make the corners of her mouth curve upwards. Then she shrugged her elegant shoulders in a charmingly nonchalant manner, pouting her lips again.

_See what I have to put up with?_

It was a powerful moment, and nothing male in the room was immune from the spell. Even Officer Jones in his corner felt the impact of the blast. He cleared his throat and straightened his necktie, a faint blush creeping over his neck to his face.

Thad, for all his worldliness, let his jaw drop in awe, his fork arresting in mid-motion.

"We should let him eat." Scarlett glanced up, startled at Rhett's tone. She felt his hand tighten on her arm, and rose obediently. She said her good-bye to Thad over her shoulder as Rhett pulled her through the corridor, never loosening his grip. To her surprise, he pushed her into her bedroom. He closed the door, standing in front of her in the dim light, his expression dark and ominous.

"We are not doing this again."

She leaned against the wall, deciding that her plan had worked very well. Perhaps she should flutter her lashes again? 'But what _are_ we doing, Rhett?' she murmured. She thought the question had come off very well, almost demurely. She dropped her gaze to his lips. _That would teach him to make fun of her. _

He placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, pinning her into place. 'You won't make a fool of me in public again, Scarlett, especially not with my nephew. You wanted me here, so I came. And now circumstances are keeping me here, and God knows when I'll be able to get away again. But….' He forced her chin up harshly. 'We are still married, at your insistence I may add, and I've had enough of watching my wife simper over another man. I've had the dubious pleasure for the last twelve years, and I'm done. I'm not in love with you, and when I'm gone you may do as you please, but you will behave as a proper wife while I'm here.'

Hard lips descended on hers, and she wiggled to get away. It was a possessive, punitive kiss, and she didn't like it. She finally managed to wrest herself away and lifted her imploring child-like gaze to Rhett. What she saw frightened her. 'But you know I didn't mean to…'

Some of whatever had possessed him left his face, but his hand remained on her neck, his thumb brushing over her collarbone. She was unaware that the afterglow of the spell she had cast still clung to her hair, pulsed in her wild eyes, and oozed from every pore. She watched him struggle as Ashley had in the garden at Tara, and finally regain command of himself.

'Damn you, Scarlett.' She could see that he was still breathing heavily. With a supreme effort, he forced his bland mask back into place, his huge rough hand still holding her shoulder. Then he laughed, a sharp, mirthless laugh this time. 'You were always one to play with fire, Scarlett, and then be surprised when you were burned.'

'You did say, _later_,' she whispered boldly. She caught her breath when he didn't reply – had she pushed him too far? She caught a fleeting look of aversion mixed with self-irony in his dark face: the look of man who had believed himself safely moored in the second half of his life, invulnerable to the follies of youth and the pains of passion – and now felt the tug of an unexpected backwards tide.

But a hidden spark remained in his eyes. Even broken, beaten down beyond reckoning - as her soul-twin, he reacted as she would to a challenge.

'I believe,' he murmured, 'that two can play at this game.' He lowered his lips to hers again, more gently this time, his moustache tickling the corner of her mouth. Something dark overwhelmed her senses, and she surrendered her lips with a startled whimper. He brushed his lips along hers, creating a cascade of sensations down to her toes. 'I admit I wondered', he whispered between kisses. 'I wondered how you'd react, now that you love me. What you'd do if I took you into my arms and kissed you. How you'd touch me. The sounds you would make when I …..'

'Mmmmmm,' mumbled Scarlett, distractedly, running her hand through the soft short hairs at the back of his neck. She wanted him to stop talking. She was too busy enjoying how he was making her feel. This was the third time he had kissed her since he'd returned, and his body – and his mouth- was no longer unfamiliar. She knew his taste again, and his scent, and the softness of his full lips. Memory supplied further images, from the last night they had spent together, making her mold her body tightly against his, feeling him thrust against her in response. His mind and heart may have been as closed to her as ever, but his body was her accomplice. She was as liquid darkness in his arms. He continued to mutter words as he kissed her, but they were meaningless sounds as he explored her mouth with his, leaving nothing untouched, nothing not caressed.

A knock on the door interrupted them before the point of no return. 'Miss Scarlett', sounded Prissy's annoying soprano, _never more unwelcome, _'the police is here lookin' for Mr. Rhett.'

'I'll be down in a minute,' she called back. She didn't recognize her own voice. The two partners in crime stared at each other in the semi-darkness, the bright light filtered out by the curtains Prissy had drawn to keep out the noon heat. The spell was broken.

He let out a sigh. Scarlett hoped it was one of disappointment. The seconds ticked between them and neither spoke.

'It's just as well,' he finally said. 'I was ….ah….not prepared to prevent a pregnancy at this time, and we should ….'

'Prevent a…..you mean …..oh!' she mumbled, incoherently.

He regarded her keenly. 'You didn't know?'

'I had no idea,' she replied, firmly. 'But ….well….I found something …..you know, when I redecorated your room. In your dresser. When I …..I wondered what ….'

She made no sense, except that he seemed to comprehend her perfectly. 'Do you still have them?'

'But, _Rhett_…..'

'I was sure that Mamie Bart had filled you in on all the gory details,' he said, softly. 'And that your desire to avoid pregnancy was simply a smoke-screen for your wish to keep yourself chaste for the honorable Mr. Wilkes.'

'There was that,' she acknowledged aloud for the first time. 'Still, things might have been different, if …'

'I doubt it.' The passion was gone, and with it the warmth it had lit. They were simply two people divided by a seemingly insurmountable past.

'They are still there,' she said, finally. 'I simply transferred everything over to the new dresser.'

'They might become useful,' he said, almost cruelly. _'Later.'_

She shook her head as a puppy shakes off rain. 'But you brought …them ….here. So you….'

'As I told you last night, I foolishly held out hope that you might change your mind. And I certainly had no intention of forcing a child on you you didn't want. ' He shrugged, as if it was of little moment, now, shrugged like he had shrugged on the night he left Atlanta in September, when he had told her he _didn't give a damn_. She felt tears pricking behind her lids.

'We shouldn't keep the Chief waiting.'

He turned to go, but before leaving stopped briefly to still her trembling lip with his index finger, and this gentle, lover-like gesture rekindled an ember of hope in the forlorn battle-fields of her soul.

_Later._


	10. Another's Thought

**_Mature, adult content warning for this chapter. _**_Not because it's graphic or particularly descriptive, but because of the themes, and the tone._

* * *

_Love? Do I love? I walk_  
_Within the brilliance of another's thought, _  
_As in a glory. I was dark before,_  
_As Venus' chapel in the dark of night:_  
_But there was something holy in the darkness,_  
_Softer and not so thick as other where;_  
_And as rich moonlight may be to the blind_  
_Unconsciously consoling. Then love came_  
_Like the outbursting of a trodden star._

_~Thomas Lovell Beddes, "The Second Brother"_

The Chief of Police was waiting in the drawing room, an air of gravity overshadowing his usual affability. Rhett greeted him cordially and showed him into the library, where they remained closeted for an inordinate amount of time.

Scarlett wished she could hear what they were speaking about. She was left with no time to speculate, for an unusually dense stream of visitors filled the afternoon. Several members of the Old Guard arrived simultaneously under some pretext or other regarding the charities Scarlett was involved in, but really, Scarlett realized, because they had heard _something. _Something connecting the Butlers to the murder on Marietta Street.

It was clear what they had heard had not satisfied their curiosity, and it was equally clear they were hoping to draw her out. Mrs. Merriwether was the most direct, Mrs. Meade the most evasive in her questioning, but it was obvious even to Scarlett that the secret would remain a secret only so much longer.

Social ruin was a very likely outcome of her decision to house Thad, but somehow, she could not bring herself to care.

She served the venerable ladies tea and slices of Elsa's excellent German cakes. Cake recipes served as a topic for animated discussion – especially of interest to Mrs. Merriwether, who was trying to infuse more variety into the selection of her bakery.

'Chocolate cake is always a favorite,' Mrs. Meade observed, delicately nibbling on a spoonful. 'You should have Scarlett's cook give you the recipe for this one, Dolly. It is quite good.' Their eyes darted around as they spoke, following the servants, hoping for any sound, movement, or sight that would tell them more about _what was going on._

It was a while before they gave up regally and left, giving no indication of hurry, stating they would be sure to return soon for more cake.

Thomas Whiting, Scarlett's new manager, also arrived with the books for the store. If he had heard similar rumors as the ladies he gave no outward sign of it. After having gone over the books, Scarlett pronounced herself satisfied with the state of affairs at the store. Sales for the quarter were holding steady and even improving slightly over last month, which was more than one could ask for in this recession. Once again, she congratulated herself on her choice of manager, despite his youth and lack of experience. He'd seemed like an excellent salesman when he had interviewed for the job, and that was exactly what he had proven himself to be. And his numbers were clean and precise – even her swift mind rarely spotted a calculation error.

"You've done well, Thomas, as usual," she said. Praising others did not come naturally to her, but lately she'd been making a conscientious effort to be kinder towards her employees.

He looked at her with round, adoring eyes. "You know I _always_ do my best for _you,_ Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett laughed. Here was another case of what she, from the lofty heights of nine-and-twenty, thought of as _a youthful infatuation_ – conveniently forgetting she had contracted what she'd believed to be a mature and deathless love for Ashley at a much younger age.

Thomas had never overstepped the bounds of propriety with her, but his obvious devotion was soothing to her vanity, especially when contrasted with her husband's coolness. She sighed. It had been two hours since he had disappeared into the library with the Chief. If only she could be a fly on the wall ….

While she was showing out Thomas, Rhett and the Chief re-emerged from the library and disappeared up the stairs. Scarlett debated on whether to follow them, but decided against it. She doubted she'd be allowed to be present for the interview, and she would have a chance to ask Rhett about it, _later._

The last visitor of the day was Dr. Harrison, who arrived just before dinnertime, and was delighted to hear his patient was doing so much better. He had to wait to see him until Chief Parker finished interviewing Thad, but then pronounced him well on the way to recovery. He recommended his staying in bed for another few days, but felt hopeful he would have no residual ill effects from his injury.

The Chief left Officer Jones behind 'to guard the house', stating he wanted both Thad and Rhett to stay indoors for their own safety until further notice. It was still not clear, he said, if Thad or Rhett himself had been the intended target. No longer needing to stay close to the invalid, the young officer accepted Scarlett's invitation to dinner after the Chief had departed. Scarlett ordered a room to be prepared for him.

Dinner was a friendly affair, with Dilcey and Pork bustling about, and everyone in a strangely festive mood. Even Elsa the Cook seemed caught up in the general air of benevolence and managed to look neutral instead of sour. It was the first time in months, Scarlett thought with nostalgia, that the whole family was together again. Her eyes wandered to Rhett's face more than once, drinking in its animation, and wondering what had caused it.

Was it too much to hope he was looking forward to being alone with her, later? She colored at the thought, and hoped he wouldn't notice.

Dilcey had taken over Prissy's nursing duties, and carried a tray to Thad. From the broad smile on her face it was obvious that she, too, was rapidly falling under the boy's spell. The most difficult thing, she reported severely to Scarlett, was to convince him to remain in bed. To relieve his solitude, Wade and Ella camped out in his room until bedtime, listening with glowing places to his tales of adventures. They both groaned when Dilcey shooed them off to bed.

'One more story,' Ella insisted. But Dilcey insisted as well. Scarlett tucked them in, reading them their now-traditional bedtime story. And gradually, a calm descended on the Mansion on Peachtree Street.

~~oo~~

She heard his footsteps before he opened the door, and turned a slightly pinkish visage towards him. She was wearing a velvet green wrapper lined with gold over what she hoped was a becoming silk nightgown. Who would he be? The fey, punitive Rhett from earlier this morning, or the jovial Rhett he had been at the dinner table? Or someone else entirely?

He had a small bag in his right hand, that Scarlett recognized as the one he had kept in the back of his dresser. He smiled as he looked around, a strange smile that gave away nothing of his mood. 'Candles?'

She held his gaze bravely. 'Mother always told us it's important to mark occasions.'

'And this is an occasion, Mrs Butler?'

'I'm not sure yet," she replied, shooting for flippancy, yet shaking on the inside. She wasn't ready. She cast about for a neutral topic. 'What did the Chief have to say?'

He sighed, and settled himself on the opulent settee across from the bed, dropping the bag on the floor next to it. His large hands searched for, and lit, a cigar before he replied.

'He did have new information, for once. Apparently, one of Belle's girls recanted her original story. She had told the police she had found the back door of Belle's house unlocked, when she first tried to open it after the shooting – which means anyone could have walked in from the outside and committed the crime. Now she is saying she lied – it _was_ locked when she tested it, and she opened it herself with her own key. She apparently had a special client with her, a regular client, that she had some…. attachment to. She was sharp enough to understand a locked door would make him a potential suspect.'

'Ah', Scarlett replied, unsure if she wanted to be introduced too deeply into the inner workings of a brothel. Curiosity won out – curiosity, mixed with a sense of foreboding. 'Is the back door usually locked? Or only at certain times?'

Another thought struck her, an exceedingly uncomfortable thought. 'And who has a key?'

'It is usually locked after midnight,' Rhett replied. 'Girls who have a…..late client with them are told to go down with him to open the door, and then lock it behind him. As for who has keys - Belle has a key, as do all of the girls that live there – currently there are ten. Apparently, all are accounted for." He paused and gave her a searching look before he continued. 'I have a key as well.'

Scarlett winced with mortification at the reminder, but proceeded with determination. 'Have you checked if you still have it?'

Had she looked at him then she would have seen a gleam of admiration on his face. 'I left it in Charleston. I wasn't anticipating needing it, since I only planned to stay briefly, and would be sleeping here. That I would be sleeping _here_ ….' he gestured to the bed, 'I would not have anticipated.'

She walked to the window, pushing back one of the ostentatious red brocade curtains in a futile quest for fresh air. Outside, there was nothing but darkness.

'How many girls were there that night? How many had ….clients with them?'

'Seven girls were there, four had overnight clients that were still with them at the time of the shooting. The doctor that examined the girl estimates the time of death to be around 3 am.'

'One of the …..clients… was Ashley.'

He started in surprise. 'Scarlett…."

She turned back around to face him. 'I saw him that morning. In one of the girls' rooms.' She drew a deep breath. 'I don't think he noticed me.'

'Yes.' He acknowledged. 'The estimable Mr. Wilkes was indeed there that night, and will no doubt be questioned intensely by the police if he hasn't been already.'

Scarlett smirked mirthlessly. 'Do you know how long he's been a client there?'

'Does it matter?'

'Not really," she shrugged. 'But I want to know.'

He seemed to debate with himself, and then shrugged. 'The honorable Mr. Wilkes has been a client of Belle's for years. We'd even occasionally run into each other. Odd, is it not?He was there because his wife wasn't allowed to have any more children …and I was there because _he _had convinced _my_ wife to kick me out of _my_ bed.'

He didn't look particularly perturbed, which frightened Scarlett more than if he had become loud and angry.

Misinterpreting her downcast expression, he said, softly. 'Don't judge him too harshly, Scarlett. It was a difficult situation for any man to be in and not be tempted.'

'I don't care about that," she said, heatedly. 'Except when I think about Melly knowing. Ashley can go to Halifax.' It should have stung more that Ashley had been amusing himself with prostitutes while at the same time implying she should remain chaste for him - but all she could muster was a strange, impersonal pity.

She turned back to practical matters at hand. 'So unless someone stole your key from Charleston and brought it here – which isn't likely– the remaining suspects are the seven girls, and the four clients. And maybe the three girls that were out. And Belle, if you can believe she would shoot at her own son.'

'And me,' he said, softly. "If you can believe I would try to shoot my own nephew under such foolish circumstances, and use my key - re-locking the door behind me after I am done. Not to mention sneaking in and out of the house in the middle of the night in a storm.'

Scarlett rolled her eyes. 'I know you didn't do it.'

'Such faith,' he mocked. 'The Chief is looking into everyone's alibis. But honestly, Scarlett, I'm tired of detective work. I had other things planned for this evening.'

The look he gave her left no doubt of his meaning.

She flushed again, suddenly terrified. She still wasn't ready. 'Shouldn't we wait?' she asked, uncharacteristically timid. 'It's…' she stopped, suddenly unable to continue.

'Yes," he prompted, with a sudden, maddening grin. 'You were saying, Mrs. Butler?'

'You can go to Halifax too,' she muttered darkly, her timidity temporarily forgotten. '_Excuse me_ for wanting the first night we spend together after such a long time to be, well, special.'

Some of the mockery left his face. 'Come here.' When she didn't comply, he pulled her to him, lowering himself back onto the settee and settling her onto his lap. 'I don't need the bridal suite of the National, or a Parisian nightgown, or even these candles – much as I admire them – to make this a special occasion for me, Scarlett.'

She looked up at him warily. Warm sentiments from Rhett Butler were usually followed by barbs.

But he surprised her.

'Let's not overburden tonight with expectations, that usually makes for disappointments. We need to get to know each other again, and this is as good a place as any to start.' He started kissing her hair, a soft spot behind her ear, and then her neck. She shivered at the touch, but was unable to relax in his arms. Despite his attempts at reassurance, she felt the burden of this night bear down on her. What if this was her last chance – her only chance? What if she failed to please him, this husband who was intimately acquainted with scores and scores of wanton girls, in many states and _on several different continents_?

How terribly inexperienced she was, she thought, and she didn't even have alcohol to sustain her like last time. He would laugh at her. She couldn't bear it.

It didn't take him long to catch on to her misgivings. 'Scarlett,' he said, kindly. 'This is only one night. Try to relax.'

But she still couldn't be calm. When a long series of soft kisses did nothing to soothe her nerves or her stiffness in his arms, he lifted up her chin, and smiled into her worried green eyes. 'All right Scarlett. I admit it. It _is_ frightening to be together after all this time, and I am nervous, too.'

There was a boyish look on his face, part impudence, part hopefulness, and part, she now saw clearly, anxiety. 'What a pair we make,' he whispered against her lips. 'I was a lot more nervous on our wedding night. And,' he, continued, grinning rakishly, 'that didn't turn out so badly, did it?'

And when he pulled her to him again, they were both smiling.

~~oo~~

When she woke up she was alone in the large bed. Even in the border country between waking and dreaming, her memory was already busy bringing up snippets of images.

She'd mostly forgotten her fears during the long, languid night that followed his confession. He'd kissed her on the settee for what seemed like hours before he'd transitioned them to the large bed. He had taken his time to undress her. He'd refused to blow out the candles, stating he wanted to look at her, over-ruling her inbred modesty with steady determination. His eyes frequently came back to check on hers, searching for who knew what – love? anxiety? lust? He'd allowed her to explore his body as completely as he explored hers, hiding none of the pleasure her touch brought him.

She would never know precisely what tipped the slow, sensual lovemaking into the dark void. It may have been her soft moan when he was poised above her, kissing her neck.

'_Mmm …Rhett…'_

His entire body had jerked at the sound, and a strange intensity had come into his eyes. He had grabbed her hair with his large hand, pulling her head back, staring down into her face. '_Say my name again.' _When she had hesitated, his grip had become harder. _'Say it.'_

'Rhett ….' The darkness in his eyes became vaster, and his lips were devouring hers with a savagery that found an echo somewhere in her own body.

'_Say my name again'._

It all became a blur then, a string of sounds, _RhettRhettRhett_ and a vortex of sensations that closed over her like the crest of a wave, and pulled her down into the darkness.

~~oo~~

'Rhett!' She was fully awake, suddenly realizing what had been troubling her. She was alone. He had left her again! Just like ….She rose, casting her gaze about wildly.

But he was still there. Standing by the curtain, looking out into the garden.

She sank back into her pillow. 'I thought you'd left.'

She couldn't see his face.

'I admit the temptation was there.' His bland tone gave away nothing. Nothing of what he thought about last night, including her own less-than-lady-like behavior.

He crossed the room back to her, and set himself down on the side of the bed. 'I realize it's not often in life that one gets a chance at a do-over. And this is ours, Scarlett. No, I won't run this time, and if you have any question to ask of me I promise I will answer honestly.'

She looked at him, her tangled dark locks framing her face. Her beauty was almost otherworldly in the faint light, a sea-nymph captured by the webs of the night and pulled into the morning. The question in her green eyes was obvious, even if she couldn't bring her herself to put it into words.

He heard her. "The answer to your question is, _I don't know,_ Scarlett. I don't know if I can feel for anyone what I felt before. I'm not certain I want to. But for what it's worth, I felt nearly dead for a long time. And on this fine morning …..' he looked around the room with the rosy light of dawn creeping through the gap in the curtains …..'I know that I'm not.'

It was a long way from the undying love he'd sworn to her in her dreams, but for the moment, it was enough. 'It was a …. good night,' she offered, inadequately.

He laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh. 'A _good_ night? My, my, Mrs. Butler, if I were a different sort of man, my vanity would be severely wounded by such a mild tribute. Especially after the _sounds _you made, which were very close to the sounds you made in my …'

'Fiddle-de-dee, Rhett. Never mind all of that. What I meant was…...' But again, words failed her.

'If I'd been brave enough to ask the question, on that other night – what would _your_ answer have been?' he asked, some of the intensity of last night returning to his eyes. 'Would you have said, _I don't know,_ as well?'

She could tell he was waiting for something important, and was desperate not to give the wrong answer without knowing what it was he wanted to hear. She opted for honesty, and nodded.

He smiled. It must have been the right answer. 'It _was_ a good night. The fantasy was more than fulfilled, Scarlett.'

And instead of leaving, as she had half expected, he climbed back into bed with her, drawing her against his chest. 'Now sleep,' he said, laughter rumbling in his chest. 'After all, we didn't get much rest last night.' But it was a while before she was able to sleep, instead luxuriating drowsily in a strange, almost unrecognizable feeling as he held her. Something almost like happiness.

* * *

_Minor edit alert: Thanks sohhkb to for pointing out I'd not specifically addressed whether or not they used protection - the problem with writing too quickly is that some things are written only in my head! Yes, they used protection, and an unexpected pregnancy is not in the books. Also many thanks to Helen for pointing out some story-flow-problems (and typos) that I tried to address._


	11. What might have been

_Thank you very much for the reviews. I love hearing what people think. Whether you like it, or have thoughts on how it could be improved, I really appreciate feedback. And Helen ...will you please update soon? I'm not sure I can wait much longer! :)_

* * *

When she awoke, Rhett was gone. Scarlett stretched luxuriously between the covers, feeling refreshed for the first time in months. He was gone from the room, but he was still here, in the house, with them. His absence, the most frustrating, insurmountable obstacle to her dogged determination, had been overcome. The thought made her smile even wider.

It was only when she was sitting at her vanity and slowly dragging a brush through her dark hair, that another, less pleasant thought rose to her consciousness. It was an annoying, unprecedented, niggling thought. A thought that threatened to cast a pall even over the rosy glow of her morning.

_He had given in to her too easily._

She tried to force her mind to consider the issue impersonally, but clarity continued to elude her. He had meant what he had said to her when he left Atlanta in September. And now, barely seven months after his eloquent speech about spent love, and _pity_ and _kindness,_ he had taken her back into his bed.

She let the brush glide thoughtfully through her dark tresses, and stared at herself in the mirror. She was not, and never would, be adept at reading people or their motivations, and Rhett's mercurial persona was more enigmatic than most. Was he just here because he desired her? The notion was too painful, too deeply at odds with the dearest wishes of her heart, that she resolutely pushed it aside. _It can't be,_ she tried to argue with herself. No man could be with a woman as he had been with her, last night, and not truly love her.

_But,_ her fickle mind interjected quickly, _what did she really know about Rhett? About the kind of nights he spent with other women?_

As on that other morning long ago, she wondered painfully, _what if such nights are the usual thing for him?_ But no –she had been wrong then, it _had_ been significant. He'd said as much on the night when he told her he was leaving. Or had he?

That terrible night was still a blur in her mind. All she could hear when she tried to remember it was his cold, impassionate voice telling her that his love was spent.

She sighed. Her own love felt so vast and overflowing that it was difficult to imagine his heart could remain untouched. She wanted to see him again, to have him look at her, just her. Despite her doubts, despite her fears, the world seemed brighter this morning. The sunlight felt warmer, the birds more cheerful. She caught herself humming while she got dressed. She even petted Bonnie's huge striped cat, who had made its way into the bedroom and curled up on the settee.

She chose another of her new green dresses, and called for Dilcey to assist her with the last hooks on the back.

'My Prissy's getting ready to have her baby, Miss Scarlett.'

Such was Scarlett's mood that even the thought of being without her maid did not disconcert her. 'I expect you'll want to be with her to help. After you finished dressing me I won't be expecting you until the baby's here safely.'

Dilcey gave her a look of gratitude. 'Thank you, Miss Scarlett.' She looked around, nothing the stump of Rhett's cigar on the ashtray. She turned to her mistress with a wide, knowing grin, firmly nodding her approval. 'It seems like things are finally gettin' somewhere around here.' She chuckled warmly. 'And it's about time, too.'

Scarlett was not offended. She laughed as well. 'I hope so.'

'You should give him another baby, Miss Scarlett. As soon as possible.'

Scarlett colored, and then sighed. If she was honest with herself, she could think of nothing she wanted more. A baby to prove how much she loved him, to help heal him, and herself, from the loss of Bonnie! But he had said quite clearly that he didn't want another child. And, she acknowledged, it was probably best to wait until her health improved. She didn't want to suffer another miscarriage. She wasn't sure Rhett could bear it. Or if she could.

'Perhaps some day.'

After Dilcey had left to assist with the birth of her first grand child, she suddenly remembered the date. It was April 30th. Her wedding anniversary. She had been married to Rhett for six years. And they had lived together for little more than five of them. Such a short time, really. She sighed. Long enough – long enough for everything to be broken. Should she really…

She walked to the dresser and withdrew a large, bulky package wrapped in grey silk. She took a deep breath. She would do it.

Her package in hand, she gingerly descended down the stairs in search of her husband.

~~oo~~

He had removed himself to the library, presumably to escape the clamor of the children. He stood by the window, looking out into the sun-flooded garden; a thin, leather-backed volume discarded on the table beside him.

'Rhett.'

He turned, his gaze traveling from her face to the large package in her hand. She set it on the table with a thud. 'I have…. a gift for you. I don't know if …' she colored deeply. 'It's our anniversary.'

His eyes registered surprise, then comprehension, and then, of all things, chagrin. 'Ah, yes. I must apologize for my forgetfulness. May my excuse be that I did not know ahead of time there would be anything to celebrate.'

She bristled briefly, but kept her tongue. He picked up the package, which was surprisingly heavy. Pushing the silk wrapping paper aside, he revealed a rough-hewn wooden crate, longer and higher than it was wide. His curiosity was piqued. He gently turned it over in his hand, discovering a panel that could be opened by pushing forward on the wood. The lid slid off easily. He felt the sting of a splinter against his thumb, but maintained his pressure until he could peer inside.

He stared down at a sailboat. In the semi-darkness of the crate its beauty was muted, but once he tugged it out with careful hands it would have been obvious even to the casual observer that this was an unusual piece. It was a large ship of exquisite craftsmanship, made of a reddish-golden wood with a liquid sheen unknown in their part of the world. It sported three proud masts, untold sails sewn of a pale beige fabric, and innumerable crisscrossed lines, fine and thin like gossamer. He ran his hands over the hull, feeling its smoothness beneath his fingers. Then he lifted his dark eyes to Scarlett.

'Do you like it?' she asked anxiously, as usual unable to read his expression. 'I found it in the new store in 17th street. The owner said it was from ….Mada…Madagonia.' She saw his raised eyebrows, and faltered. 'I mean, it's from Africa. I think.' She blushed, certain he would once again pounce on her ignorance and mock her.

Instead, he continued his level stare. 'It is certainly not what I expected. What made you chose this ship?'

She shivered. What could she say to avoid the trap she was sure his words were hiding? 'You like ships,' she answered, finally. 'Why should I not give you something you like?'

'Why indeed?' he asked, conversationally, keeping his large hand on the boat. 'Of course, one would have to consider another person's preferences and feelings to choose a gift that they actually like. And that has never been your forte, my pet, so you will pardon my confusion. I am also astonished because this ship is neither garish nor tasteless. It shines mainly through the hues of the wood and the excellence of the carving – things I would have wagered much too subtle for you to appreciate. So, I ask you again …..what made you chose it?'

Out of the tangle of incomprehensible words she only heard that he liked her ship. Her face gleamed briefly with triumph, and then with irritation. 'It was ….different. It didn't look like something from around here. And you like ships. And ships can take you places, and sometimes …' she stopped, a sudden embarrassed blush staining her cheek.

His enigmatic gaze was more intent, now. 'And sometimes?'

'Sometimes they bring you back home.'

His eyes softened. "It is beautiful, Scarlett. Thank you." He placed it high on one of the shelves, well out of the reach of the children. Then he turned back towards Scarlett, feeling as if something had shifted beneath his feet.

She was smiling at him, the rare, gleeful smile of a child whose drawing had pleased her stern mother on Christmas morning. But the look that accompanied it was oddly resigned and almost nostalgic, belying her years.

'When ….if you leave again, I hoped it would remind you of me. Of us.' There was no hint of accusation in her tone. If he left again, she would bear it, like she had borne so many other calamities in her young life.

Unless, he thought, taking in her translucency in the half-light of the library, her health broke first.

'I'm sure it will,' he replied evenly. He heard the rustle of her skirts, but did not turn back to see if she was disappointed by his answer.

Outside the library window, the leaves of the gum trees were already exchanging the soft tones of spring for the darker cloaks of summer. Ambitious blackbirds chirped their cacophonous octaves. He was aware of a long-lost sense of physical well-being, oddly at contrast with his unquiet mind. He felt lose-limbed and energetic, like a tree newly shot with green.

He sighed. She deserved more, perhaps, than his nonchalance and his gratitude - but he was unsure of what else he had left to offer. He was no stranger to internal conflict. He had been torn in some way or another since the day he had first met Scarlett at the barbeque at Twelve Oaks. Torn whether to remain near her, or to flee. Torn whether to cling to hope, or to resign.

No, it was not the nature of the conflict, or conflict itself, that felt foreign and unfamiliar. It was the sinking premonition that he, or even Scarlett, would have little to say in its final outcome ….that he himself, his freedom and his peace of mind, and whatever small shreds of happiness life might still hold for him, were but pin-balls in the hands of a fate already set inexorably into motion.

He had felt alive again last night, alive beyond what his hopes and dreams would have held, had he still been capable of hopes or dreams. But it was a night he would not have permitted himself to indulge in, had he not been certain that the time for choices was long over.

~~oo~~

It was a quiet day. Rhett had gone into town for a few hours with Officer Jones in tow, leaving Scarlett to spend a few overdue hours at the store. She kept to her office in the back of the building for the most part, quickly reminded by the few customers that glimpsed her that both she and her family had once again become an object of intense curiosity, and gossip. She was thankful for Thomas' unflappable support, but could only guess what the Meades, the Bonnells, and the Merriwethers were talking about her behind her back.

When returning home, there was little left of the glow the last night had cast on her spirits. She felt frazzled and nervous, like a bug on a pin under a magnifying glass. When she drove up Peachtree Street and recognized Uncle Henry's carriage in the distance, she turned sharply into Ellis Street to avoid him, making the longer drive home through Ivy Street and back through Harris Street. She only hoped that his sharp old eyes hadn't spotted her as well – or that he was not coming to see her, and demand answers to the rumors that were floating around town.

Once home, she remarked to her considerable relief that Uncle Henry's carriage was nowhere in sight. Rhett had returned in her absence, and by the stable she also saw the plain, sturdy black carriage of Dr. Harrison.

It was, however, to her surprise and shock that she found not just the doctor and his wife, but also Rhett and Thad in the drawing room. What had prompted Rhett to allow the boy to come downstairs? What if someone – Uncle Henry! or even worse, one of the Old Cats – had stopped by after all? She drew a deep breath. It was getting rather late for afternoon visitors, and she could always pass Thad off as Rhett's nephew from Charleston.

Thad, she noticed quickly, was completely at his ease in polite company. He conversed with the Harrisons in the spirited and friendly manner of one used to mingling with all sorts of people, betraying none of the broken-down humility one would have expected of the illegitimate son of a town whore. Scarlett realized, perhaps for the first time, the wisdom both Belle and Rhett had shown in raising him far away from his mother's city.

She spontaneously invited the Harrisons to stay for supper, and was gratified by their pleased acceptance. Their friendship, both solid and non-judgmental, had been a pillar of support for her after Melly's death and Rhett's departure. After informing Elsa of the expected guests she checked in with Pork, who pronounced that as per his womenfolk, Prissy's labor was progressing nicely. She had Elsa make sandwiches for them, instructing her to take them to the servant's quarters. Wade and Ella were still running wild in the back of the house with the other children, and she called them inside to change for supper.

The meal was an informal but pleasant affair, and the small group retired back to the drawing room after the children had been sent to bed.

Thad sat down at the elegant Steinway grand piano at one end of the room. Scarlett had insisted on buying it when first furnishing the house, and it was meticulously kept in tune, but rarely played except by Wade and Ella for their weekly lessons. He started running his fingers over the keys, calling forth notes leaping like silver fish in a stream. Cara Harrison laughed with delight, her rosy face drawing indulgent smiles from her husband.

Thad played. Irish country dances, German waltzes, Scottish reels - and soft, melancholy notes of an entirely new kind of music he had picked up in the saloons in New Orleans. Cara implored her husband to dance, and encouraged Rhett to ask Scarlett as well. They danced around the large carpet while Thad played a particularly energetic Waltz. Then they danced again, this time with the doctor leading Scarlett around the room, and Rhett dancing with Cara. She didn't see the doctor's probing, professional eyes examining her color when they stopped, nor the brief seconds of concentration on his face as he listened to her breathing. Scarlett danced with Officer Jones. And with Rhett again. Her hairpins loosened, and her black locks cascaded down her back. She didn't care. She couldn't remember having had so much fun since her honeymoon. She drank deep draughts of the cordial of being around friendly faces, dancing - and having her husband by her side.

When they were all spent and had settled themselves on the settees, Thad demonstrated that he also had a fine singing voice, reciting the old Southern tunes in a soft and melancholic baritone that tugged at the heartstrings and made one remember the past, and the might-have-beens. The sounds reverberated through the solemn house, beckoning, calling to humans and animals alike. Elsa came in on a pretext. Pork discovered a corner that needed dusting. Wade's stately St. Bernard poked his head around the corner. There were tears in Scarlett's eyes that she blinked away furiously, and even Elsa's worn face held a glimmer of soft nostalgia.

'You play well,' the stern doctor told the boy on the piano bench.

Thad laughed, tossing back his dark curls. 'I earned my living in saloons in New Orleans. Uncle Rhett's paid my way for years, and I figered it was time I made it on my own. I'm not quite as famous a card shark as him, so I had to support myself as I could. Thanks to Uncle Rhett I had some training on the piano and a real love for it, so it's been paying my way. The audience there isn't much for Mozart or Beethoven, and more's the pity, but they enjoy a good tune nonetheless.'

And he played some more, gentle and contemplative classical tunes that allowed each listener to follow the notes, or their own thoughts, as they preferred.

After the doctor and his wife had left, and the young officer had retired to his room, Scarlett and Rhett remained in the drawing room with Thad. It had been a long day, and the hours of vigorous activity had clearly taken their toll on the convalescent. The boy smiled his winsome smile at his aunt.

'I'm thinking I should go up too. It's been fabulous to be up an' about after laying flat for such a long time, and in such grand company no less, but I'm not completely back to my old self, much as I hate to …..'

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Pork entered, an expression of displeasure on his face. Scarlett felt a tingling sensation, almost like fear, shoot up her spine.

'A Miz Watling is here to see you.'


	12. Belle

Surprise registered on the faces of the two men – delighted surprise on Thad's expressive countenance, amused apprehension on that of her husband.

There was a split-second in which to make a decision, and Scarlett knew almost immediately she would not make a scene in front of the boy she had grown fond of, no matter what her feelings for his mother. More surprisingly, she also discovered within herself the wish not to lower herself before those black eyes that had looked at her with such boyish adoration. Thad believed her to be all that was good and amiable, and she was of no mind to disappoint him. Nor was she at all insensitive to the opportunity to appear magnanimous in front of Rhett: she believed, without fully comprehending it, that her willingness to save and house Thad had much to do with her husband's softening towards her.

But it was hard – so much harder than she had ever thought it could be, to permit his mistress entry into her home. The mere thought of her brought back years of guilt, and loneliness, and humiliation. Years that she and Rhett had lived as virtual strangers. Years her husband had sought love and comfort from Belle Watling instead of his wife.

In face of this unexpected challenge, Scarlett squared her shoulders – the old, almost forgotten gesture of her girlhood, with which she had faced a vanquishing Yankee army and not retreated. But, it was hard. An amalgam of her mother's teaching, diffuse religiosity and what she disjointedly understood as the code of polite society also rose within her, screaming to protest the sacrilege of letting a woman of loose morals into a gentlewoman's home. It was unthinkable. Had it not been for the sudden memory of Melly accepting Belle's coins for the hospital, she might yet have wavered.

The image of her sister-in-law, which had become her touch-stone over the recent months, gave her strength and stiffened her spine, and she took comfort in the thought that for once, Melly would approve of what she intended to do. Her proud head lifted in the manner of a queen allowing a lowly supplicant entry into her castle.

"Show her in."

Pork nodded grimly, and returned a bare minute later, moving aside unwillingly to allow Belle to enter.

The woman that slowly stepped into the drawing-room was nothing like the fiend with horns of Scarlett's imagination, or even the distraught mother she had seen at the brothel several nights ago. She was merely a woman - like any other woman one might pass in broad daylight on the street on Market Day and never commit to memory. She was slightly taller than woman's wont, her buxom figure just on the verge of becoming stout and graceless. Try as she might, Scarlett could find nothing at all offensive about her attire: she wore a plain gray dress with sensible shoes and a dark blue overcoat, her flaming red hair modestly hidden under a woolen headscarf.

Nor had she made any other effort to appear flashy or attractive. She wore no discernible jewelry, and her pale, slightly elongated face was completely devoid of rouge or lipstick. Without Pork's announcement, and the small rim of red peaking out from under the scarf just above the forehead, Scarlett might not have recognized her. What allure Belle may have possessed in days bygone now seemed fully transformed into matronly dignity, with all the finality of a door snapping firmly into its lock.

At this realization, a dormant, subterranean streak of smugness raised its head inside Scarlett's breast like a serpent uncurling. This pitiful, wasted creature that had haunted her marriage for almost as long as Ashley had, was now less than one tenth as attractive as Scarlett, if she had ever been.

Scarlett, without realizing it, threw a disdainful look at Rhett. He caught it in mid-air, and smirked back at her. Scarlett scowled. Damn him and his uncanny ability to read her thoughts, especially the ones most unflattering to her.

"Mother!" During her extended reverie, Thad had jumped up from the settee and run across the thick carpet to the older woman. He had his arms tightly around her, his fatigue forgotten in his obvious delight. But it was not Thad that caught Scarlett's attention. Over the tall boy's hunched shoulder, tears had started to run down Belle's cheek; and to her considerable dismay, Scarlett could no longer find her plain and unattractive. She looked ….motherly and warm, haloed by joy and relief like an Italian Madonna. And Scarlett realized, with a blinding flash of insight, that she was almost beautiful again, beautiful in ways more enduring than a tiny waist and light step. There was an otherworldly light in her countenance as she held her son –the same light that had once lit up Melly, but never her, Scarlett.

_You've never been very soothing, my dear._

Scarlett collected herself, and dragged her gaze away from the touching tableau. "You two will want to talk." She hated to hear her own voice quivering slightly as she spoke. She nodded for Belle to sit on one of the settees, and then looked at Rhett as she swept out of the room, hoping that he would follow her.

~~o~~

Once outside the room in the hallway, she hesitated. She did not want to go upstairs with that woman still in her house, so she opted for the library. Her legs, she found, were suddenly shaking beneath her, and she was unable to maintain her sweeping stride. She stumbled more than walked into the room, finally catching herself on one of the bookshelves to avoid crumbling into a disgraceful heap on the floor.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dimness. The red brocade curtains had been drawn over the large windows hours ago, and the ship Scarlett had given Rhett earlier this morning gleamed subtly in the shadows of a single gaslight.

"It was kind of you to let her see Thad," Rhett noted amiably, closing the door behind them. He had drunk no alcohol all night, but now poured himself a small amount of brandy into a low glass from the decanter on the mantelpiece. He offered Scarlett a drink as well, but she shook her head mutely. She rarely drank anymore these days, and at any rate, she would not be distracted from her purpose. Belle's unsettling transformation had wiped charity, and prudence, from her volatile brain, and she turned on Rhett attempting to empty her mind of all the noisy, jealous chatter.

"The nerve of that woman. To show up here ….. where anyone could see her….."

"It's very late. " He was watching her with his disconcerting gaze, his veiled black orbs giving away nothing.

Scarlett swung fully around with narrowed eyes, almost hissing at his tone of polished urbanity. "You! You told her she could come. Don't even bother to deny it! When you were in the city earlier today you went to that whore's house, and you …"

"Be reasonable, my darling" he replied calmly, taking a small sip of the amber liquid and swishing it around in his mouth. "With that young officer tagging after me almost to the door of the privy, do you really believe I had time to make clandestine excursions to Belle's establishment? But yes, I did send her a note earlier today that she might see Thad, as long as it was late at night. I didn't think you'd mind, as long as she was circumspect. "

"Oh!" To have her suspicions confirmed stung cruelly. "Of all the mean, nasty things to do! To invite this woman ….here…into my house …."

"I wouldn't have denied my house to Ashley, had it been his son that was injured and sheltered here." He smiled at her with a genuineness that rivaled the stars of the heavens in multitude and brightness. "I thought you would want to do the right thing. "

Scarlett colored at this blatant manipulation, but she was too unskilled and too enraged to fend it off effectively. "It's different. You know Ashley and I never…..and Ashley isn't…"

He said nothing, and merely held her gaze with his limpid, dark one. She sighed.

"Oh well. What's done's done. But I would appreciate it if you would consult me in the future. Or at least warn me, if the likes of her are coming to my house!"

She saw his eyebrows go up, and the corner of his mouth go down. He was preparing for another nasty barb. However, before Rhett could even attempt to reply they were interrupted by a firm knock. The well-oiled hinges turned silently, and the door swung back to reveal the object of their dispute in all her glory. Thad's hug had left her slightly rumpled; her collar had been overturned, and her scarf pushed down to her shoulders to reveal her flaming locks. The color now looked oddly out of place over the plain face, like a bright bauble forgotten on a Christmas tree in January.

Scarlett instinctively raised her hands to ward off the calamity she sensed was approaching.

Belle attempted a reassuring smile, which came off as a painful grimace. She looked first at Rhett, her gaze mingling firmness with familiarity in a way that made every hair stand on Scarlett's neck in possessive rage.

"I want to talk to Mrs. Butler."

If Scarlett's anger had been at the other woman's impudence, it now redirected itself at Rhett, and his male willingness to quit the painful scene as quickly as possible. Before he left, he swept his gaze briefly over his wife and his mistress, and Scarlett would have given much to know what he was thinking. He was probably laughing at both of them, she told herself savagely. She would deal with him later.

She turned her attention back to Belle, girding herself for this new battle. If only she could think of a stinging rebuke.

To her horrified surprise, the other woman sank to her knees in front of her, clasping her hand between her own long fingers. Scarlett couldn't remember a moment where she had felt more uncomfortable. "Please, stand up," she murmured, more from a wish to retrieve her hand and end this unwanted encounter than from any natural graciousness. But Belle remained kneeling for several more heartbeats, her head bowed, her grasp firm.

"I wanted to thank you, Mrs. Butler," Belle finally said, letting go of her hand and rising back to her full height with surprising agility. "I know what you did for my son, and I won't ever be able to repay you. I just wanted you to know that I ….if there's anything, ever, I can do for you …"

Anything! The words bubbled to Scarlett's lips so fast she was unable to swallow them. "You can start by staying away from my husband."

Belle flinched as if she had been struck. The fervent light went out of her eyes, and she once again looked like a faded older woman to whom life had not been kind.

"You got nothin' to worry yourself over, Mrs. Butler," she said quietly. "He ain't been to see me in _that way_ in a long time. There ain't much left of me to tempt a man these days. But even when he ….." Belle halted briefly as she encountered the sudden fire in Scarlett's gaze…"even when he came by more often it wasn't done to hurt you. Up 'till the time he left Atlanta I didn't know you cared, and neither did he. I ….loved him, you see, all the while seein' it was you he loved. Maybe you think you know what that feels like now, to love him and not have him love you back. And maybe you do. But you have a chance to keep him, like I never did. And I used to hate you for it. But now…." she raised her hands to Scarlett in a gesture of supplication.- "none of that matters now. You see, Mrs. Butler - men don't matter all that much in the end, for all that they like to carry on and talk about lovin' us and want to be made much of. It's our children that matter, and friendship. Women working together is what keeps this world goin' and food on the table, and the children warm. Maybe you haven't seen it yet, and maybe you never will, but perhaps one day, when you're older and your fires have gone out like mine, you will see."

Scarlett stared, her mind scampering after rabbits. Without knowing it, Belle had conjured up another image from the past: a burning city. A nineteen year old girl in a battered carriage. A decrepit old horse. A dying woman and an infant. A useless darkie. A wailing child. And Rhett, announcing he was off to fight for a Cause he knew was over, wasting precious time trying to kiss her and make speeches. _I could not love you, dear, so much, loved I not honor more. _The words had been meaningless then, but her mind had stored them, stored them like it had stored Ashley's words in the orchard.

Now, for the first time, she was able to put them into a larger context.

"Rhett helped you though," Scarlett muttered thoughtfully, still trying to pleat the loose strands of her thoughts into a comprehensive braid. "He gave you the money to start your…business. Just like he helped me with mine."

"He did," the other woman replied, firmly and unapologetically. "And I'll be forever grateful to 'im, as I 'xpect you will. But a man's way is more about doin' one great gesture, rather than doin' the little everyday things that keep things goin' after they start 'em. And they don' mind lookin' after us or our children, as long as it don' interfere with some other thing they've got goin' on. I 'xpect if it hadn't been him that lent you the money it would have been someone else. And I 'xpect you would have been fine even if no one had helped, for that's our way."

Scarlett said nothing. She found she had no voice, not even to refute the allegations of kinship. Belle picked up her limp hand, and pressed it briefly. "You'll let me know if there's ever anything I can do for you, Mrs. Butler. "

The door opened again, and Scarlett, turning, expecting Rhett. Instead, she caught a blur of a shadow carrying Pork's walking stick.

"I will show her," the small figure called out, and belatedly, Scarlett recognized Elsa the Cook, in her nightdress and wrapper, her gray hair tumbling loose around her back. Before Scarlett could stop her, she thrust herself forward and attempted to hit Belle over the head with the stick. Belle, with admirable reflexes, side-stepped her neatly, grasping the stick with the strong arm and firm manner of someone accustomed to dealing with all kinds of unruly clients, and putting them in their place.

"Let me go, you Jezebel….." Elsa hissed, struggling against Belle's firm grasp. Belle, seeing that the other woman's fury did not abate, twisted the stick completely out of her grasp, and laid it high on the shelf out of Elsa's reach.

"Now, Elsa, " Scarlett managed to say calmly. "No need to work yourself into a tizzy. Everything is under control. You may go back to bed." Elsa cast a scornful look at her, but some semblance of reason seemed to have returned to her fogged mind. She dropped her arms, and left the room, still muttering to herself. "Devil …Jezebel…"

The two women were left to stare at each other. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the tension of the night released itself in loud, almost hysterical laughter. Wide blue eyes met green. Scarlett struggled to catch her breath. "You may want to go, Miss Watling, before someone else gets ideas into their heads."

Belle nodded, the mirth fading from her face. "Good-bye, Mrs. Butler. And thank you."

In the clean look that passed between them, Scarlett knew she had been given a soul to hold, for the first time in her life not out of lust or passion or love, but out of gratefulness and understanding. Neither their times nor their sex had words for the obligations a knight might have for his liege-lord, but their archaic humanity recognized it nonetheless, and watched it flame unspoken between them. Something older than Scarlett bowed her head in acceptance.

Later, she would ask herself if her mind had become unhinged, if she had finally, irrevocably taken leave of her senses. Now, watching the other woman descend into the dark of the city, Scarlett was aware only of a strange sense of calm. It was an ascending, hovering calm that expanded to touched her children, Rhett, the servants of the house, Thad, even Belle driving home through the darkened city. Her family, both black and white, at Tara. Carreen in her convent in Charleston. It gathered them up, counted them, named them. And when it encountered the sudden, high-pitched wail of an infant piercing through the house, it welcomed it, too, into its fold.

_My people,_ it sounded silently in her head. And for the first time since she was a young girl returning to a devastated Tara, those words felt light.

* * *

_Disclaimer: as in the first chapter. A couple of MM lines are borrowed._

_So this was Belle. I'm feeling a decided twitch to kill someone off, and have to restrain myself for it to not be Rhett. He irritates me currently. I enjoy reviews, and would like to thank those of you who pretty much review every chapter - it helps to know what works, even if you're too polite to say what doesn't. *grin* Happy Thanksgiving everyone Stateside!_


	13. A Thousand Bars

**Rainer Maria Rilke, "The Panther, in **_** Jardin des Plantes, Paris**_**"  
Translated by J.B. Leishman **

** His gaze those bars keep passing is so misted  
**** with tiredness, it can take in nothing more.  
He feels as though a thousand bars existed,  
and no more world beyond them than before.**

**Those supply-powerful paddings, turning there  
in the tiniest of circles, well might be  
the dance of forces round a center where  
some mighty will stands paralyticly.**

** and then the pupil's noiseless shutter  
is lifted - then an image will indart,  
down through the limbs' intensive stillness flutter  
and end its being in the heart.**

* * *

Scarlett walked out of the library into the silent, semi-darkness of the hallway. Had Thad and Rhett had already gone to bed? There was no sign of Elsa, for which she was grateful. She would have to talk to her about her behavior in the morning. While she was still lost in thought about the day's events, a door clicked in the back, and the meowing kitten-like sounds of a newborn floated once more through the house. She turned to watch Dilcey enter, a small bundle in her hand. Her wide, reddish-brown face was all smiles.

"What are you doing still up, Miss Scarlett? You know you need your rest."

Scarlett laughed at the gruff admonishment. It reminded her of Mammy, and the way she used to fuss over her. "I'm on my way to bed. Let me see the baby. What is it? Boy or girl?"

She peered into the small face, and the depthless, almond-shaped eyes that stared up at her. As far as she could tell, the child took more after James than Prissy. Scarlett smirked. When it was older, it would be grateful.

"It's a girl, Miss Scarlett," Dilcey replied. "And wouldn't you believe it, that silly boy of Prissy's is tickled to pieces about her! Tells everyone she's gonna be her Daddy's little princess."

Scarlett's eyes widened at the unexpectedly warm tone in her maid's voice. Dilcey had disproved of James as long as she could remember. Then Scarlett recalled the change in Mammy's opinion of Rhett, when he had fallen so quickly and violently in love with Bonnie. Apparently, James had achieved a similar shift in his mother-in-law.

"What will they name her?"

"Charity Faith, after James' sister. Prissy says she'll call her Charry.""

"Charry." Scarlett sounded out the name. Then she giggled. "I'll bet she'll end up being called Cherry instead. She already looks like a little cherry. May I hold her?" Dilcey handed over the well-swaddled bundle, and Scarlett swung her around. Stifled baby-lust ignited in her breast. She had no idea if Rhett would ever change his mind about having more children, or even if he planned to stay, once the police investigation was over.

"If you'll hold her for a moment longer, Miss Scarlett, I'm going to the kitchen to get my Prissy some water. She's sadly tired, poor thing, but she held up real good for a first-timer. Didn't whine or cry nearly at all."

Apparently, not only James had received a promotion into Dilcey's good books. A night of wonders, to be sure.

Scarlett saw Dilcey crane her neck and look around into each room on her way to the kitchen. She doubted Dilcey had really come for a glass of water - there was a well just outside the servant's quarters that she could have used. Surely, she had heard from Pork about the late-night visitor, and had wanted to see for herself that everything was in order.

Scarlett sat down in one of the chairs lining the long side of the staircase while she waited. The baby had stopped meowing, and instead concentrated on scrunching its tiny face into impossible frowns. It would be nice to have a baby around again, she thought. One of the many, many things she'd hated after Bonnie and Melly had died, and Rhett had left, was the terrible quiet that had descended on the house. Wade and Ella had almost turned in little ghosts themselves. It had been good to see them acting wild and happy over the last two days with Dilcey's younger children. And now, with this new baby, perhaps some of the happier, more boisterous times could be reborn. If Rhett stayed.

Dilcey returned quickly and reclaimed the bundle, expertly balancing the baby in one hand and the water pitcher in the other. "Good night, Miss Scarlett."

She could not put going to sleep off any longer.

~~o~~

There was no light under the boy's room, but her own bedroom was still illuminated from the inside. Rhett must still be up. Scarlett was unsure whether to be glad or apprehensive. She pushed the door open slowly.

He was standing at a window, as she had found him so many times over the last week, now staring, not into a sun-kissed pasture, but into the blind night. She was not sure if he'd heard her come.

"Rhett."

He startled out of his reverie, and turned to face her. He twisted his powerful body into a half-sitting position on the window sill. "Mrs. Butler. What a pleasant sight to sore eyes. You're still alive, and, to all outward appearances, undamaged."

"No thanks to you." The words were those of their old quarrels, but oddly enough there was no real venom in her voice.

"Ah." He rose from the window and walked over to her. His hand tipped her chin to up towards him, and looked for an intent moment into her eyes. "I see. No casualties, then. Instead, you've signed a truce with the enemy, and exchanged the kiss of friendship. Perhaps even acquired a stout lieutenant for your troops?"

"I ..."

He shook his head. "Scarlett, Scarlett. I see I underestimated you. Must I be wary that all my darkest secrets will be spilled, now that my one-time confidante has changed her allegiance?" His black eyes danced, and Scarlett had no way of telling if he was mocking her, or if he was truly worried.

"Perhaps I _should_ ask her," she growled. "Thanks for giving me the idea."

"Why not ask me directly? I've never taken any pains to hide the caddish side of my character. I would have told you whatever you wanted to know, even when we were still living together."

"Except one thing," she whispered.

"Did you ever really ask?" he replied. "But I won't belabor the point. It's late, and we should get some rest." She stood indecisively in the middle of the room, and he continued: "Dilcey is still with Prissy, is she not? Would you like me to unlace you?"

She nodded, not really having any other option, but the thought made her decidedly uncomfortable. "Brings back unpleasant memories, doesn't it," he continued conversationally, as he spun her around.

"Yes," she murmured, softly. His large hands worked deftly on her stays.

She tried for mindless chatter to keep her mind off the disturbing recollections that fought to surface. "Prissy's baby was born. It's a girl. They're naming her Charity. And, oh, Rhett - then the funniest thing happened in the library after you left. It was Elsa. She came in while I was still talking to Belle. She was so angry for some reason, that she tried to hit her over the head with a walking stick. Fortunately Belle handled the situation well, and got the stick away from her before anyone got hurt," Scarlett recounted, generously.

"The righteous indignation of the morally superior. I never did like your new cook, Scarlett, and I'm afraid the feeling is mutual. If looks could be daggers ..." He had finished unlacing her, stepping back to allow her to pull her chemise over her head. She tried to keep her arms crossed above her breasts as long as she could while she changed, but dared not look at him. Once she was done, she quickly covered herself with her wrapper.

"Nothing I haven't seen before, Scarlett. Seen quite recently, if memory doesn't fail me."

She blushed. "Fiddle dee dee. If you were a gentleman you'd….."

"I thought we'd established long ago that I'm anything but. I'm not complaining. There are a lot of downsides to our current arrangement, but this is definitely one of the perks." While he spoke, he ran a careless thumb under her wrapper and over her half-exposed shoulder. She forced herself not to turn away from embarrassment. He dropped his hand, walked over towards the window, playing with the curtain, pushing it back several inches before letting it fall again.

"You're always standing at windows and staring outside," she said, suddenly. "What are you thinking when you do that?"

He cocked his head and regarded her thoughtfully, perhaps surprised at her perceptiveness. "Why do you ask?"

She sat down at her vanity and loosened her dark hair from its pins. "I don't know. Perhaps if you'd sometimes tell me what you're thinking it would make things easier between us." Carefully, she unfastened her emerald ear bobs and placed them in the jewelry box in front of her, already regretting the sparkle they had added to her pale face. She grabbed her silver-backed brush, and ran it through her tumbling locks.

He moved again, this time towards her, with his casual, feline grace.

An image rose, almost too fleeting to grasp before it submerged back into that vast pool of her subconsciousness labeled 'the time before the war'._"What's the matter, Puss", she heard her father's voice say inside her head. "Did that big cat scare you?"_

She straightened to face him. "God's nightgown, Rhett. You look like that tiger I once saw in the zoo in Ripon, when Pa took us there as little girls. Its cage was too small, and it paced and paced. It stared at me, and Pa couldn't understand why I cried. You...you have those same eyes." She struggled, but continued bravely. "It's like …. you're trapped here. Like this big house is too small and there're too many bars, and you'd do almost anything to get out."

"Whenever any affliction assails me, I have the keys of my prison in mine own hand, and no remedy presents it selfe so soone to my heart, as mine own sword."

"What?"

"No matter. Pray continue."

"No …. Rhett…. " She shook her head vigorously, trying to clear her head of cobwebs. "Why in halifax are you going on about swords? You don't mean to say you'll…"

"Kill myself? No. Although that path is chosen by quite a few stalwart souls who've become overwrought by the confinements of this world. For myself, I would never be cowardly enough, or brave enough for that matter, to choose mine own sword. There was a time when I hoped drink and dissipation might finish me off gently. I discovered instead I wasn't quite so low to take the back door out. And here I am now. Trapped, as you've so aptly observed."

"I don't understand," Scarlett cried, her confusion in her face. "Why are you more trapped today than you were in September? It certainly wasn't hard for you to run out on us then. And what's more, I don't even _want_ you here if that's how you feel. In fact, you can go to halifax for all I care. We'll get by just fine without you!"

He took her brush from her nerveless fingers, and ran it absent-mindedly through her thick hair. "Perhaps I've had time to think," he replied, after a moment, gliding his hand over her scalp. "When I left back in September, there was room for little else in my mind than getting away from the place, and the people, that had caused me so much grief. But there's other things to consider as well, and since my return I've seen them most glaringly. There's Wade and Ella. Especially Wade seems to be dealing with a lot of anger. He needs a father in his life. There's your health, which you can't deny hasn't been good. And now there's…."

"I'll take better care of myself,' she interjected dully. "I'll eat more, and go out into the sun three times a day." He couldn't have said more clearly that he was staying only out of obligation, and it was breaking her heart. "You don't need to stay for Wade and Ella, and you certainly don't need to stay to play nursemaid to me. Maybe I'll take a long vacation once the investigation is over, and send Wade and Ella to Tara for a bit. You're free to go back to Charleston or Europe or wherever. As soon as that police officer permits it, I mean."

But he was smiling at her, suddenly reaching out and pulling her off her chair and against his frame. "That trapped tiger you saw," he murmured against her lips, "probably wanted to devour you." He was kissing her now, kissing her with a thoroughness that made her aware of every single nerve ending in her body, keenly feeling every inch of skin that was pressed against his. "That's what tigers always want to do to tasty little morsels like yourself." His lips had traveled down her neck, as if he were really a hungry animal searching for a place to make that fatal bite. "But then you're a predator yourself, my little cat - as I've noted before. Definitely a hunter. A lioness, perhaps. I must take you to Paris one day, and show you dear old Eugene Delacroix' paintings of lions and tigers, and what they do to each other."

Scarlett was trying hard to concentrate on his words, but she was failing utterly. "You're not listening to me," she mumbled, feebly. She struggled to pull her neck away from his soft lips, her body his caressing hands.

"Stop talking, Scarlett," he murmured against her skin. "We never talk enough, you and I, except when we shouldn't." His sharp teeth nipped her neck. She yelped, and laughing, he pushed her onto the bed.

His large body was over hers like a shadow.

~~o~~

Much later, when moonlight drifted through the small gap Rhett had left in the curtains, her mind returned to her earlier line of thought. She'd drifted into a languid sleep, after even Rhett's ingenuity to draw more pleasure from their bodies in a single night had been exhausted. He was awake - in fact, what had woken her was the a pulling sensation on her hair as he wrapped her long tresses around his throat. She smiled sleepily at the memories that gesture brought back. They had been happy then, for the most part at least. Had they not?

He moved, sensing her awake. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She turned to her side. "I was just thinking how nice this is." She had been much more active in their lovemaking that yesterday - more active then ever before really - and it pleased her even more than it embarrassed her.

"Indeed. If this is what being trapped will mean for the future, it may not be so difficult after all to reconcile myself to the notion." His words mocked her, but his tone did not.

"Fiddle-dee-dee," she replied, blushing, thankful that the dark hid her face. She plunged resolutely forward. "You never did tell me, what you were thinking, when you stare out the window. I still want to know."

He did not answer her at once. "Many things," he replied, finally. "What I regret. But mostly, the sea."

"The sea?"

"It haunts me. It calls to me. Sometimes I imagine I can hear the sounds of the breakers even this far inland. That I can smell the salty air. When I would have most welcomed death I thought of it like sinking underwater - into an endless, green quiet." He laughed jauntily. "The sea is like war, or women - perhaps worse. Once it has entered your bloodstream, you are never free again."

Scarlett shivered. "Oh Rhett, don't be talking of death, and sinking. You frighten me."

He did not answer her, and the very silence evoked the image he had called up, of an eerie, moving grave, somewhere at the bottom of the sea.

She balled her small fist around a fold of bed sheet. She felt the choking sensation return to her throat, and coughed several times. "And I meant what I said earlier. I'm retired from the business of binding men to me through obligations, to their own misery and everyone else's. I should never have forced Ashley to return to Atlanta. It only caused me unhappiness - and him, and you. I won't do it again. I won't. Go, if you must. Stay if you want. But don't talk to me of traps, and obligations."

She turned around in the bed, her back to him. She didn't want to look at him anymore.

He wrapped his right arm around her stiff shoulder and pulled her gently against his chest. "I spoke to the Chief this afternoon, Scarlett. All of Belle's girls, and the clients, have good alibis for the time of the murder. He feels the investigation has run dry. And unless new evidence turns up, or our assailant strikes again, we may never find out what really happened. I would imagine he'll pull the young officer Jones to other duties in a few days. And then, Scarlett - we have to be realistic and realize we may not be able to stay here. There are rumors flying fast and furious around the city as we speak. I was approached by several people on the street trying to pump me for information. It's only a matter of time before people piece together the whole story, and then embellish it further. We don't have Mrs. Wilkes anymore to fight our battles for us. And I don't want Wade, or Ella, to have to suffer the consequences of our notoriety." He paused for a moment, their breathing the only noise in the room. "And then - a change of climate may be best for your health, Scarlett. There are excellent sanatoriums in Europe - Germany - for people with lung problems - and out West as well. I've been meaning to ask that doctor of yours to examine you. He may be able to give us some guidance. And we can use it as an excuse to leave town quickly, if we must."

Scarlett shivered. What was he saying? That they should leave Atlanta? Leave Georgia? Even leave the South? He couldn't be serious. He couldn't mean it. It had to be one of his vile jokes. "But what about Tara," she blurted out.

He smiled. "Leave it to you to focus on Tara over all the other possible inconveniences and losses, Scarlett. Your obsession with that piece of earth as always puzzled me." But his hand was gentle as it stroked her hair. "Tara may remain in Will's capable hands, as it is now. We can continue to send money as needed. And perhaps, after some years have passed and some new scandal or new war occupies the hearts and minds of the Old Guard, we can return."

* * *

_Dear Guests, Helen, LMS - no, I won't kill off Rhett, no matter how much he irritates me at times. I've thought of another potential victim that pleases me even more. I thought he had to admit, out loud to Scarlett, that he felt trapped, if they were ever to move forward. And I realized a couple more things: I lose the flow of the story if I don't keep writing at least something on a regular basis, which means more frequent updates. And I had to liberate the storyline from being frozen in time and place as it was. It was crying for movement. Rhett's quote was by John Donne. Thanks for the reviews, and hope you enjoy!_


	14. And All Places Are Alike To Me

_'Nenni!' said the Cat. 'I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.' - R. Kipling_

* * *

Years! Whenever Scarlett thought back to that early-morning conversation, as she did frequently in the days to follow, that one word haunted her. Did Rhett really believe it was necessary to leave Atlanta, and the South, for years?

Rhett had been more prophetic than he knew. It wasn't clear just when the wall of silence Scarlett had attempted to draw around her household became porous and started to crumble, but crumble it did. In the austere, pastel-colored parlor of Mrs. Elsing, where the weekly sewing circle for the Widows and Orphans of the Confederacy had taken to meeting after Melly's death, tongues were wagging even while heads were bent industriously over their embroidery.

It was a most _delicious_ scandal, the likes of which hadn't enlivened their boredom for years, and the ladies would normally have had no compunction about discussing every salient detail. But in this particular instance, the scandal invoked so many elements a gentlewoman would blush to admit she even knew existed. It was to the credit of the trust, and the familiarity, of the ladies of the Sewing Circle, that they were able to overlook strict propriety and nonetheless speak frankly to each other. It was also telling that the collective ill-will focused much more on Scarlett than on Rhett, even though her contributions to the scandal were much more nebulous. It was enough that she had once more violated every code of propriety, and, as they said, 'made a complete spectacle of herself.'

"I heard Scarlett was seen with Captain Butler was at ...that woman's house, the night of the murder," Mrs. Elsing whispered to the others, who were working furiously to cover their interest. "There's talk that he ... had a love child with that Watling creature, or maybe one of the other girls, and that the bastard was shot, or something. They say the bastard has disappeared after the crime, and no one knows were he is." There was a coldness on Mrs. Elsing's chilly, elegant face whenever the topic came to Scarlett, despite the fact that Scarlett continued to employ, and pay, Hugh Elsing during his convalescence, and had probably saved his leg after his accident.

"You don't say!" exclaimed Mrs. Meade, no less satisfied with her information than her friend. "My husband says he's certainly not been admitted to the hospital, or cared for by any respectable doctor that Dr. Meade knows. But Dr. Meade says that there's been a doctor going in and out of _Scarlett's house_. Not my husband of course! A foreigner, is what he is - most likely that same Yankee surgeon she forced on Hugh after he broke his leg, when she knew perfectly well my husband is a wonderful surgeon and could have handled Hugh's injuries all by himself. Dr. Meade thinks the Captain's bastard child must be _inside _the Butler Mansion, and Captain Butler, well, _blackmailed_ Scarlett into keeping him there, perhaps by promising to stay with her if she did. We all know he's left her a long time ago, for all they try to keep up the pretense of going about in public when he's in town. Not that I blame him for leaving. We all know how she's badly treated him for years, and how cruel she was to him when that baby died."

"I've always known Scarlett was a fast piece," Mrs. Merriwether whispered back comfortably, occasionally reaching out to nibble one of the ginger cookies she had brought in a large basket from the bakery. She had always been a stout woman, and time had made her stouter still. "Of course, we _had_ to accept her money for the Ladies' Memorial Association and the Monument, because we were so sadly out of funds, what with all the nice people struggling so much in this recession, but I must admit it always pained me to use speculator's money for the erection of a memorial for our fallen boys."The whispers increased in volume, and frequency. Mrs. Bonnell, whose brown, wrinkled face was still round and cheerful despite years of hardship, attempted to mumble a few words in support of Scarlett. She had never been able to forget she'd once been the school-mate, and dear friend, of Ellen Robilliard, and felt she owed it to Ellen to shield her daughter against her own follies. However, her friends knew of Kitty Bonnell's sentimental disposition, and were thus able to easily disregard her feeble interjections - when unexpectedly, India Wilkes spoke up.

"I won't stay here and listen to you insulting Scarlett," she said, the coldness of her voice and mien matching and surpassing even that of Mrs. Elsing. "I know I haven't always approved of her, and a lot of things happened that I won't bother to get into. But ..." she continued, her gray, lashless eyes sweeping the room like a whiplash..."Melanie loved her like a sister. Melly forgave me our quarrel on her death-bed, and I promised to leave the past behind me, and work with Scarlett to give Beau everything in life that he deserves. I intend to keep that promise. Scarlett and her children will continue to be welcome in our home, and anyone who speaks ill of them in my presence, or stops calling on her, or attempts to exclude her from meetings, will have me to recon with." She stood up imperiously, and gathered her sewing materials into her yellow basket. "Come, Auntie. We're leaving."

Pittypat, who sat in a comfortable arm-chair in a corner of the room, foresaw another, long-lasting quarrel like the one between India and Melanie, with herself caught in the middle. She looked helplessly at the other ladies, silently imploring them to _do something_. Mrs. Elsing rose swiftly - for all her dislike of Scarlett she was not insensitive to the reality that Hugh's income from the store was vital to the family. Nor could she, or anyone else in the room, afford an open breach with India. After Melanie's death there was no one who would stand up to India when properly provoked. She had taken over her sister-in-law's position of leadership of the Thespians, the Young Men's Libary Association, and the Orphan's home, not to mention her considerable contributions to the Ladies' Sewing Circle and the Association for the Beautification of the Graves of the Glorious Dead. Her expertise, and the time her spinsterhood allowed her to contribute to those cherished organizations, were sorely needed. And what was more, the Old Guard felt vulnerable. Despite regaining governance for the Democrats, and then end of the Yankee Occupation, the Atlanta of 1874 was not the Atlanta before the war. Times were a-changing, and upholding the old values was no longer simply a matter of raising their daughters and granddaughters as they had been raised. They could not allow a further divisions of their ranks. "No, India! I couldn't bear it if we had a falling out over something so unimportant. Of course we won't cut Scarlett. Why, Dolly and Mary called on her just the other day! Please stay for tea. Cook is just heating up the water in the kitchen."

~~o~~

Unknown to the genteel ladies, there was another underground force at work in favor of the Butlers, colder and more powerful even than the stalwart will of India Wilkes. Belle Watling made it her business to utilize her vast network of secrets kept, and favors owed. From the Governor's mansion to Atlanta's most lowly hovels, wives discovered their husbands unwilling to discuss the scandal, and instead encouraging them most strongly to add the Butlers to their latest guest lists. Newspaper editors refused to run the story. Even Chief Parker was told in no uncertain terms to conduct his investigation as quickly and discreetly as possible, an admonishment he met with nothing but his trademark stare. As Rhett had predicted, he reassigned Officer Jones to other duties soon afterwards, not because he had any intention of bowing to pressure, but because the investigation really and truly had run cold.

Scarlett was relieved on some level that the number of afternoon callers did not drop off over the next few weeks, and that they received, if anything, a rising number of invitations to soirees and dances, even by people whose patronage would have been far out of her reach in former days. She tried to tell herself this sudden surge in popularity meant that Rhett's warnings were unfounded, that the scandal had not touched her family or hurt her children's chances. However, she was unable to deny there was a certain coldness in the manner of those hostesses, as if they were entertaining her against their will - a subtle way of not hearing her when she spoke, or cutting her off in mid-sentence to respond to someone else. She could not quite figure it out. Where they inviting her just to satisfy their curiosity?

Rhett, who could have enlightened her, chose not to. Instead, he came home one afternoon with an unusually somber expression on his face. Scarlett was in her room, dressing for a ball at the Governor's mansion, sitting at her vanity and attempting to re-create a specific hair-do she had seen in the pages of Godey's Ladies' book, supposedly all the rage in Paris. It was an elaborate set of rolls, forming first a larger roll around the head, then adding two smaller ones at the top, invoking a crown. She sighed. Her straight, smooth hair kept slipping out of its confinement. She would have to chose something simpler, and quickly.

When Rhett entered, she looked up briefly. They had gotten along reasonably well for the past few weeks, in many ways reverting back to the earliest days of their marriage, which had combined amicability and an active social life with a lack of real intimacy. They had had no further discussion about moving, or what shape or form their shared or separate future might take, and Scarlett had not pushed him. She was afraid words would set off that undesirable cascade of events that silence was holding at bay, at least for the moment.

"God's Nightgown, Rhett. You startled me."

He crossed the room to her, sitting himself on the settee next to the vanity. "I have bad news, I'm afraid."

She looked up at him with swift fear, but was confused when he withdrew an elongated object from his pocket - a large, ivory-hilted dueling pistol. "I don't understand."

"It's mine. The police did a final sweep of Belle's property, and found one just like it hidden in the bushes next to the wall. It's unclear how they were missed in the first sweep. And unfortunately, all evidence points it it being the murder weapon. I had two pistols, and both of them were here. Now, one is missing. I had kept them, unloaded, in the drawers of the nightstand in my old room. They are engraved with my initials. Thanks to your very timely alibi, it will be difficult for them to charge me formally as a suspect, but things will undoubtedly become more uncomfortable around here." His dark eyes flickered briefly to her face, catching the concern. "You needn't worry they'll arrest me, at least not on what they've got. I told the Chief I didn't remember where I kept the gun, that it might very well have been somewhere in my room at Belle's. He won't be able to disprove it, and neither will anyone else. But aside from that - you do understand what this means, Scarlett."

"What are you saying?"

"The fact that my pistols were used show one thing very clearly: the murder was committed by someone who had access to this house."

Scarlett blanched. Who could possibly ...one of the new servants? What motive could they have, for wanting to hurt Thad, or Rhett for that matter? Or one of her visitors? There were a lot of people going in and out of the house on a daily basis, many of whom could have stolen upstairs and taken the pistols in an unguarded moment. But how would they have known what to look for? And most of all, why?

"Who would ..."

"That's the question, isn't it. A question made doubly intriguing by the fact that the assailant not only needed access to the house, but to Belle's keys as well. It's beginning to look like the attempt was planned, perhaps long in advance. I haven't checked my drawer since before I left in September. And that means he, or she, may strike again. At any rate, I don't intend to stay to find out. We need to move, and move quickly, Scarlett. For more reasons than one. There's also your health to consider. Remember what Dr. Harrison said."

_Dr Harrison had examined Scarlett a week ago at Rhett's request, spending a long time listening to her chest from front to back with his stethoscope. He'd asked her to cough, breath in deeply, cough again. He'd examined her sputum, which he had her spit into a glass. After what seemed like an indeterminate time, he'd nodded, and placed his instruments back in his bag. Turning to Rhett, he'd said quietly: "Medical science is still in its infancy. In twenty years we may have know much more about the afflictions of the body, and how test for them, than we do today. All I can tell you is that I doubt your wife is suffering from consumption, based on how her lungs sound. I have seen numerous cases during my time in the army, and her symptoms are not typical. I do feel she acquired a serious, chronic bronchitis, which has been sapping her strength, and may turn into a potentially fatal pneumonia at any time. In my opinion, a climate change is highly advisable, and for at least six months she should stay in an area known to facilitate lung health. I'm familiar with an excellent sanatorium in Germany, and given a bit of time may be able to come up with others, depending on your preferences." _

Scarlett wished nothing more than to postpone this conversation, perhaps indefinitely. Leaving Atlanta, leaving Tara, was much more frightening to her than she wanted to admit, especially to someone like Rhett, to whom one spot of earth was like another. A deeply practical young woman, she saw all the wisdom of his arguments, but still she hesitated.

"Who would we take?"

He shrugged. "I'll leave that to your judgement. I'm assuming Dilcey and Pork will wish to return to Tara with their children. I don't know about the rest of your staff." He paused briefly, and then continued more softly: "I wondered if you'd mind taking Thad. He can't very well return to New Orleans after eloping with his employer's mulatto girl, and I'd hate to leave him here with a murderer on the loose. Whether we go out West or to Europe, it'll be easy to simply introduce him as my nephew. He could make a fresh start."

Scarlett started. This request she had not anticipated, but strangely enough, she was not displeased. Thad had been a cheerful addition to their household over the past weeks, politely fading into the background for hours if they were expecting company, and spending an inordinate amount of time with Wade and Ella. One afternoon, after her visitors had left, she had found him with five children on the third floor of the mansion, which consisted of nothing but a giant and unused ballroom. They had laid train tracks through the first third of it, and were down on their hands and knees pushing trains and causing "derailments". The four boys - Wade, and three of Dilcey's offspring - were all laughing hysterically. When Scarlett had walked in, she shook her head at them, but couldn't fail to notice how the children thrived under the extra attention. On other days, he built small kites and flew them from the veranda in the back into the children's waiting arms. On rare quiet evenings he played on the piano for them, or amused them with tales from his times in the saloons of New Orleans.

"I don't mind, if he wants to come," she replied, honestly. As soon as the words left her mouth, she shuddered. She sounded as if she'd already committed to the move. "I mean ...I haven't really decided about going anywhere."

His dark eyes gleamed. "Decide quickly."

She turned to face him. On the tip of her tongue was the main reason she hesitated, beyond even losing her home and Tara - the risk of sealing her fate forever to a man who felt bound to her only by obligation. He had said nothing, done nothing to assure her he had fallen in love with her again, or that he ever would. Could she live eternally in the cold serenity of his company, where his body was so close but his heart so distant? She had already begun to feel the heaviness creep into her very bones over the last few weeks; an agony less acute, but perhaps even more deadening, than even his absence had been, an agony that had taken all of Thad's friendly capering to even partially thaw.

"I'll do it." She waited for her lips to form all the other words that were in her heart, opening up to him as she had done so many times since September, airing her pain and perhaps receiving, if not reassurances, then at least some hope for the future.

But strangely enough, she found she could not speak.

* * *

_Is it plausible that the police missed the gun during their first search? Maybe not, but I'm going with the idea that oversight happened in ith 1870s just as easily as today. :) Thank you all very much for the kind reviews, and the always-fascinating insights you have on our favorite couple. The exchange of ideas is what I love best about this fandom - that and the wonderful stories I get to read. Amaranta, I'm tickled to pieces that you're back, and I can't wait to read your new chapter! _


	15. Love And Hate

Sonnet XIX - by Michael Drayton

You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why?  
_There was a time you told me that you would; _  
_But now again you will the same deny, _  
_If it might please you, would to God you could. _  
_What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not, neither. _  
_Nor love nor hate, how then? What will you do? _  
_What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either, _  
_Or will you love me and yet hate me, too? _  
_Yet serves this not. What next? What other shift? _  
_You will, and will not; what a coil is here. _  
_I see your craft, now I perceive your drift, _  
_And all this while I was mistaken there; _  
_Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you: _  
_You love in hate, by hate to make me love you._

* * *

Scarlett had decided to sell the Peachtree Mansion.

Once her formidable mind was made up, she set about the process of detangling herself from Atlanta with the precision of a surgeon wilding a blunt but energetic scalpel. "Even if we're ever coming back to the South, we won't be coming back to Atlanta," she told Rhett, outwardly all reason and detachment, but quaking inwardly. Yet she remained determined. It made sense on many levels to let go of the house. It was too large, too expensive and too impractical to maintain from afar. Nor could her maturing taste (aided, perhaps, by her memory of its similarities to a brothel) deny it was indeed every bit the monstrosity Rhett had always felt it to be. At nine-and-twenty, she couldn't understand how she had ever liked such pompous architecture, or such garish décor. She'd been so young, rich, and given her head in all things. Rhett, she thought bitterly to herself, should have guided her, and not allowed her to make a fool of herself.

Rhett agreed all too readily to the idea. His open pleasure was somewhat of a double-edged sword for Scarlett, who hoped his light-hearted acquiescence merely resulted from the wish to leave bad memories behind, and start somewhere fresh, with her. But some part of her feared he hoped to leave their entire past behind, the good memories as well as the painful.

For the next few days, Scarlett went through the house, labeling everything she wanted shipped to their new home in Texas. Choosing furniture for her new life relieved her sense of impermanence. She would take the settee from the living room they had lounged on together for hours when they were newlyweds. The dining room set, where they had spent rare and precious evenings eating meals together as a family. Wade and Ella's things. And Bonnie's crib, that she was neither ready to let go of, nor put into storage. She did not intend to take her bed, despite its recent association with much more pleasant memories. She would buy a new one in Texas, built by local craftsman from local wood. Perhaps it would bring them luck.

_"Take her West," Dr. Harrison had told Rhett, in a private interview in the library, away from the ears of the womenfolk. "At the very least, your wife should be forced to rest in the mountains for a few months. I recommend Colorado for the clean air. Yes, there is are sanatoriums in Europe, but I am not convinced the healing properties of these locations are not entirely based on rest, good food, and sun. And I am in correspondence with a brilliant German physician by the name of Dr. Robert Koch, who feels strongly that consumption is based on a contagion, based on his own observations and the written works of another scientist almost a century earlier. If there is indeed such a risk, we do not want Mrs. Butler to become infected in the very place we send her to heal." He paused, and then continued in a voice heavy with studied neutrality: "I also believe she will be better off in a place she can put roots into. A place were she speaks the language, and might in time find use for her considerable talents." _

_"So you know we don't intend to return."_

_The sparse doctor looked at him without any discernible expression on his face. "So my wife informs me. It is the prudent move."_

_Rhett smiled thoughtfully, and sipped slowly on his brandy. "I'm not sure why it matters, or if you'll even believe me, but I wanted you to know that Thad isn't ...my son. He is my brother's child; __my nephew by birth, if not by name."_

_Dr. Harrison shrugged his narrow shoulders."It is no business of mine."_

_"I know. But understand - I have neither church nor confessor, and you've been the closest thing to clergyman a blackguard like me will ever have the good fortune to receive into his house." Rhett drew on his cheroot, slowly blowing out the aromatic smoke before continuing. "Perhaps I wanted you to understand. Perhaps ... even to offer - absolution."_

_"My absolution is easy to obtain," the sparse doctor replied. "And will require neither penance nor prayer. My hope, and my wife's, is that you will do right by Mrs. Butler, whom we both hold in considerable affection. She has suffered much under your absence, in ways that may not even be obvious to you. And there are children, Captain Butler. You cannot have forgotten that you married a woman with two small children, and your life is no longer your own. If you stand by these obligations, that you willingly entered into, then you will not only go with my good-will, but my respect." He paused, and his expression became less stern.__ "And my friendship as well, should you choose to accept it."_

_"Friendship?" Rhett appeared somewhat startled by his choice of words, but not displeased. "It's been a long time since I had a friend of my own gender - one of those things I never valued until I'd lost them. But I would ...enjoy having a friend, and in our case, a __correspondent - you do say that you write. Perhaps, you will consider writing to me, once we are established in our new residence. I will forward our directions. I'm as happy to discuss the latest scientific breakthrough with regards to consumption as I am conversant in French and German philosophy. And I'm sure you will want to hear ...how Scarlett and I get on." _

_The doctor smiled - a smile as sparse as he, but no less genuine and heartfelt. Rhett took a step forward, and the two men shook hands vigorously. And as men do who have briefly opened themselves up to deeper emotions, they talked about anything but for the remainder of the visit, touching instead on local politics, and the inconveniences of the recession._

_It was only when the doctor had been given his coat, and was getting ready to instruct his coachman to bring his carriage, that they briefly spoke of something else again, this time in low, fast voices. The doctor's face turned from shock to fear as he listened to Rhett's account. "So it has begun," he murmured, finally._

_"It began a long time ago", Rhett replied, softly, and a subtle hardness crept into his face. "I will see to it that it ends."_

In the meantime, Scarlett was saying good-bye. Some good-bys were comical, others heart-felt, and still others, heart-breaking. However, it would be difficult for the exacting historian to precisely pigeon-hole the leave she took of India, Beau, and Ashley in their small house in Ivy Street, for it had elements of all. She had come with the express purpose to see India, to discuss the financial arrangements she had made for Beau's future and comfort. She had hoped half-heartedly she would be able to avoid Ashley, but unfortunately he was at home, looking surprised at her entrance, then blushing profusely. Scarlett sighed. She had hoped the rumors of her presence in Belle's establishment had not reached him. A vain hope, obviously.

Both he and India had listened to her explanations, India with obvious gratitude, Ashley with no less obvious embarrassment. "We can't accept ..." he started. Scarlett waved the protests aside.

"I'm going to keep my promises to Melly, and you're not going to make it difficult for me." There was a finality in her words, and he listened to the rest of her presentation with only minimal interruptions. Scarlett was grateful. She asked to see Beau, but he was out with a friend. She wished she could have run her hands through the boy's golden curls one last time. She would miss him, that last living, breathing connection to Melly.

Ashley showed her out himself, and India generously permitted them those last few moments alone, citing a roast that needed tending. After all, she thought, Scarlett would soon be gone from their life.

"I can't believe you're leaving," Ashley said, as soon as India had disappeared from the kitchen. "And leaving with ...Scarlett, my dear, are you sure?"

So it had not been rumors about her visit to Belle that had upset him. "Yes, I'm leaving," she said softly. "With my family."

"But ..." he seemed unable to find his voice. Scarlett waited. If he was going to ask her to leave Rhett, to marry him instead, it would be best to get it over with. She waited patiently, but he seemed at loss for words. "Did you want to tell me anything else, Ashley?" The last year had changed him no less than it had changed her, he looked thin, and worried.

He looked at her, as if he wanted to imprint her image forever into his mind: the gay companion of his youth, the girl whose heart he'd held and broken, the grown woman who was now on a path that would never again intersect with his own in a meaningful manner ... unless he spoke. The moments ticked by unclaimed. And when he saw her square her shoulders again he felt as if he'd irrevocably lost something, not her, precisely, because he doubted in all sincerity she was still his to claim, but some last remnant of manliness, of pride, of valor.

She stroked his cheek lightly, as one would to a child. "Good-bye, Ashley."

The door fell shut behind her as she walked out of his life.

~~o~~

In comparison, classifying their last visit to Oakland cemetery was easy.

Thad had come along, to pay his respect to the cousin he had been fond of, and also to say good-bye to the young woman who had stolen his heart. Rhett had bought both a plot and a heath-stone for her once the body had been released by the police: a simple white stone, with a garland of flowers, bearing nothing but her name, and the words "in memoriam". Seeing the boy's face crumple at the narrow grave showed Scarlett more clearly than any words could that he had loved her. She only hoped his heart would mend in time, that he would not repeat the fate of Gerald - and, perhaps, of Rhett.

Leaving Thad to say good-bye in private, they walked up the meandering path until they both stood side by side at Bonnie's grave. They would be gone by the time the first anniversary of her death rolled around, a fact Scarlett both regretted and was glad of. She did not know if either she or Rhett would have been able to bear it. She had expected to weep, but to her surprise only silent tears rolled over her cheeks. She silently whispered her good-bye to Bonnie, groping inadequately for words. "I will miss you, my baby. I'm going West, far away - I wish you were going with us. You'll always be in my heart."

And then she did weep, as if she would never stop. Rhett held her silently, as he had had the last time they had stood here together. After what seemed like an eternity, she was able to draw a deep breath, and cleaned her face with a handkerchief. She stole a glance at Rhett, who stood rigid and tearless. It was in those moments that she could almost share the wish she'd ascribed to him; of a new, a different past, a past in which he did not meet her, and instead continued whole and happy as he had been that afternoon at Twelve Oaks - strong, invincible, and unbroken.

She did not know where she stood with him. He was affectionate with her, even friendly, his demeanor still free of the barbs and sarcasms of yesteryear, and for the most part, their marriage was pleasant. Had she wanted no more than what her mother taught her to aspire to, she should have been content, happy even. But she could not be that woman. Her expressive eyes pleaded with him to really see her, to look at her with that fierce light he had had years ago, when she hadn't known what it meant. Having been loved by him - would she ever be satisfied with less?

Had it not been for their 'relations', she might have given up hope altogether. At night, in their bed, he suddenly transformed from an amicable friend into an ardent and passionate lover. She did not know what to make of him. For the millionth time, she wished she had another woman to confide in - a mother (although she would have rather died than speak to her mother about the reasons for her tender hopes) or a girl-friend with some life experience. Cora Harrison was sweet and lovely, but she would have no idea what Scarlett was talking about. But Scarlett ached to know. Was it possible for a man to engage in "relations" as Rhett did - and feel nothing for the woman he was bedding but kindness and duty?

Almost her entire household had elected to go West. Pork told her there was no way she was going into 'Wild Injun' country' without his and Dilcey's protection. Elsa, somewhat to Scarlett's dismay, stated she had never liked Atlanta, or the South, and would welcome the chance to leave. James stated he was coming as well, but would be sending Prissy and the Baby to Tara "until Cherry's a bit older, Miz Scarlett, you understand, then I'll send for them." It was unclear to Scarlett whether it was Pork's mention of Wild Indians that had prompted such caution, but James was as elusive as he was adamant. Even Thomas Whiting, her store manager, asked wistfully if there might be work for him "out there" once Hugh Elsing was recovered and able to manage the store again. "We could open a real good store together, Mrs. Butler, the best in the West!" Scarlett had laughed, and promised to think about it. Several of the stable boys signed up as well, as had the gardeners. All in all, it would be a sizable group of people who would set out for Texas in the private cars Rhett had hired.

Time expanded, and then contracted as the date of departure came nearer. The house had been sold to a banker from Savannah whose taste, Rhett had drawled, rivaled Scarlett's at its hight. Most of the furniture Scarlett had selected had already been sent to Texas, and what was left would be passed on to the unwitting banker. On the last night at home, Scarlett stood at the door-way to the third-story ballroom. She didn't understand what had drawn her here of all places. There were no memories associated with this vast emptiness except balls not celebrated, parties not held, and grand visions that had gone up in smoke.

Suddenly, a shadow materialized behind her. "Here you are." Rhett stared down at her for a moment, and seemed to catch her thoughts with his usual ease. She wondered what he thought of her, of this room, of the foolish girl she had been, and of the collapse of everything she had once so clung to.

"May I have this dance?"

She looked surprised but gave him her hand, and he whistled a Waltz while he whirled her around and around the great emptiness until she shrieked with laughter. When they were out of breath, they stopped in the middle of the room, and Scarlett grinned up at him mischieviously. He smiled back down at her, bringing his lips briefly to hers in a soft kiss. She felt his touch all the way down to her little toes.

"You know what, Rhett?" Scarlett said, raising her brilliant green eyes to him. "Let's go out in style."

~~o~~

They paraded Thad in the bright June sunlight, in one of the open carriages that took the Butler household to the depot. By the time they had reached Marietta Street, a small and growing crowd had begun to form, complete with shouting and finger-pointing. Rhett put his arm around Thad's shoulders, whispering something to him, and Thad laughed. Then Thad turned to Scarlett, and they both burst out in giggles. An audible groan went through the crowd.

What was even more shocking was the arrival of Belle Watling's bright red carriage, which also pulled up in front of the depot. None of the demure colors and modest head-scarfs she had worn when she had visited the Mansion were visible now. Her hair was flaming red, her dress shrill and ostentatious, and her cheeks bright with the brightest rouge on the market. Mothers covered the eyes of their children and unmarried women. Belle, head high, walked up to the Butlers, who were obviously expecting her, greeting her with great cordiality.

Belle Watling stepped up, giving Thad a prolonged hug, and then kissing Scarlett's hand in plain view of all assembled Atlanteans. Another, even louder gasp went through the crowd, and Scarlett grinned. This was fun, almost as much fun as being made notorious as the Belle of the Ballroom after being bid on for one hundred and fifty dollars in gold by a man who wasn't received.

But the biggest surprise came last. A figure pushed his way through the crowd. He was not a young man, but he was fast on his feet, wearing nothing but a light overcoat and carrying nothing but a valise. He looked neither right nor left, and the onlookers who recognized him cast startled looks at his back. He did not stop until he had reached the Butlers, setting his valise next to Rhett, and nodding amicably at Scarlett. "The Captain here kindly offered me the chance to come along," Uncle Henry whispered under his breath to Scarlett, who for once was speechless herself. "I'm getting old, and bored, and I need a change. What's more, I can't bear the thought of having young Wade grow up so far away from me." Then he turned, facing the crowd with a big smile on his face, at once challenge, defiance, and glee.

From the distance, they heard the sounds of the train approaching the depot. He then lifted his head, and threw his hat far up into the air, watching it get caught by the air-stream of the engine. And his voice boomed over the small depot, belying his age, filled with the strength and vigor of a much younger man:

_"We're going West!"_

* * *

_Thank you, dear readers, for your kind reviews and thoughts. Dixie raised an excellent point about Thad's similarities to Bonnie (a young and unbroken Rhett vs a young and unbroken Scarlett) although I mainly conceived (can you say 'conceived" about a fictional character?) him as a way Scarlett could redeem herself in Rhett's eyes, when she was willing to sacrifice her ire and her reputation for his happiness by bringing a doctor to Belle's. I also wanted a possible bridge to Belle, for I always felt Scarlett and Belle should be friends. Thad also serves another purpose, which we will get to later._

_I'm going to stick with Scarlett's POV for the rest of the story as it is obvious Rhett knows much more than she does, and one can wonder who else knows. I liked your suggestions about the potential murderer. Elsa, Ashley have all been acting oddly. Coco - your idea was that it was more than one person, which I find very plausible. I also really liked all the information you gave about TB. What interesting work you have! Amaranta, your suggestion was definitely the most unexpected one: that it was Belle herself, trying to revenge herself for Rhett's desertion. But she would have known Thad was in Rhett's room that night, and waved the assassin off. Unless she couldn't do so in time?_


	16. The Wings of the Morning

_Muchas Gracias to LawdyMissScarlett for the idea that the Butlers might like living in Galveston, as well as much information about railroads and the history of Texas. And thank you for the reviews! I hope you enjoy the result, and that it's not too long._

_Mature-ish content warning._

* * *

_If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea - Psalm 139:9_

The sounds of the sea were so much a part of Galveston that Scarlett felt she would recognize the town with both eyes closed. She had been living on the small barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico for two month now, and already its sounds and smells had become a part of her. She heard the wind and the crashing waves when she and the children took the dog for a walk at the beach. She heard the cries of the seagulls while going to the market with Dilcey. She smelled the salty breeze at night when out socializing with Rhett and Uncle Henry. The heavy sound of the surf breaking against the shore followed her into her dreams.

She had spent three endless months recuperating in a sprawling log cabin in the mountains of Colorado, her household reduced to only Thad, the children, and Dilcey to look after them, while the rest of the staff was busy setting up their new residence in Southern Texas. Rhett had flitted back and forth between Colorado and Galveston, supervising the improvements to their house, while also making sure she was well looked after and adhering to her bed-rest. Scarlett began to suspect he had promised both Dilcey and Pork feudal wage increases in order to tempt them to the move, because he knew no one but Dilcey would have succeeded in making her lay still for any length of time.

Dilcey, she thought bitterly to herself, had become a real dragon, equal to or even surpassing Mammy in her heyday. "Mista Rhett told me you need to be restin' Miss Scarlett, and rest you will while Ah still got breath in mah body." Disregard of Dilcey's orders brought on such frightful scowls, and even more frightful mutterings ("any man, even if he wuz a saint, is soon gonna tire of a sickly wife") that Scarlett resigned herself.

Rhett had also hired a local physician, Dr. Gustafson, to monitor her progress. Dr. Gustafson had looked rather grave when he first examined her, even whispering to Rhett that he very, very much _hoped_ his esteemed colleague from Boston was correct in believing her ladyship was not suffering from consumption. Over time, however, his outlook became more optimistic. Scarlett's health improved with indecent rapidity on fresh food and mountain air. Her figure regained its former slender roundness, the natural, rosy blush returned to her cheeks, and a decided spring was added to her step. A month into her stay, her cough had disappeared entirely, and she began badgering Rhett to let her move to her new home earlier than planned. He shook his head firmly: she was staying for at least three months, and not before the renovations were finished, and that was that.

Scarlett tried to busy herself with the plans Rhett brought of the house in Galveston. It was a magnificent three-story home built of white sandstone, Rhett said, within walking distance to the sea, with a dark grey roof and a large tower on one side adding visual interest. A long stairway led to the second story from the street, opening into a triangular balcony. In the front of the house, there were two ground-level doors off a narrow walkway leading to the kitchen and the washroom, respectively, but there were no ground level entryways to the back of the house. Scarlett felt this to be an awkward feature, and said so, considering the servants would have to walk around the entire house to get from the washroom to the back of the property.

But Rhett had merely laughed, and even Dilcey had just shrugged her shoulders.

"What about the laundry," Scarlett had objected, her practical mind grappling with the implications. "It'll be hard to carry the heavy baskets with wet clothes all around the house to hang it up in the garden. And Rhett's making all these renovations now. It should be easy to add a door to the back." But she could tell they were no longer listening. Clearly, Rhett had his own reasons for preferring this particular layout, and clearly Dilcey was not going to argue with him. Once more, Scarlett wondered just how much Rhett was paying her to fall in so readily with his wishes.

She bent over the plans again. All of the bedrooms were on the third floor, which also had a small balcony off the master suite. A large, formal dining room took up a large part of the second story, which also included a spacious library and an elegant drawing room. The "tower" contained an ornate sitting room overlooking the water, with large, rounded bay windows on all sides. "You can hold tea parties there," Rhett had drawled, "and I'm sure the view will impress the ladies much more than all the gilded mirrors in the old house." The downstairs consisted of kitchen, washrooms and storage rooms. One of the improvements Rhett was making included tearing down and rebuilding the servant's quarters, which had been left to go to a state of disrepair, and replacing the low, wrought iron fence around the property with a much higher one.

Scarlett couldn't quite understand his motivations, since the old fence had been installed only last year, but agreed readily once he told her the happenings in Atlanta had made him more safety-conscious. He had also found a promising location in town for a general store, he added, knowing that would perk her interest. And there was more good news: Uncle Henry had also found a house, just across the street from theirs.

"Uncle Henry," Rhett laughed, "has already made quite a splash in Galveston society. He's taken a job at a local law-firm, just to amuse himself and keep busy, he says. If you ask me, it's because he's enjoying all the attention from the young widows and unmarried ladies of the town, who are fascinated by him, and seek him out for advice whenever they can."

She heard in Rhett's voice that he liked the house and the city, and perhaps even the people, something she had never noticed throughout the many years they had lived on Peachtree Street. It made her hopeful. Perhaps, being so close to the water again, and in a house he'd chosen, would mean he would come to like living with _her_. In a burst of generosity not entirely free of self-interest, she told him to set up their furniture from Atlanta as he thought best, and to buy whatever else he thought they needed. She even went so far as to give him _carte blanche_ when it came to décor.

"You don't have to make it all grand, Rhett. And I like lighter colors very well now."

"Such womanly reticence, Mrs. Butler," he mocked. "What happened to the young lady who wanted nothing more than purple curtains, and a wall full of mirrors to make everyone she knew pea-green with envy?"

"Oh hush," she replied, blushing. "The curtains were not purple, they were …..plum, and anyways I lost my taste for mirrors a long time ago." At his raised eyebrows, she continued gamely: "And you can wipe that smirk off your face, Rhett Butler. It isn't exactly news that I don't have the best of taste, and there's no need to tease me about it."

"But it's so enjoyable," he'd grinned, his black eyes gleaming. At the humorous note in his voice, Scarlett had raised her own green orbs to his face hopefully, scanning it for any signs of returning love. But once again she was disappointed. It was maddening. He continued to treat her affectionately, continued to turn each night into a passionate and sensuous exploration – but he still withheld any declaration of love.

While closed up in the mountain cabin, she was reduced to spending many lonely evenings in Thad's company. She'd wondered why Rhett wanted the boy to stay with her – surely it would have been more interesting for a young man his age to help with the cattle ranch Rhett had acquired as an investment in southern Texas? Indeed, Rhett had hinted that Thad could eventually take over as its manager, if he showed interest and aptitude for the business. But for now, the boy seemed content to linger in this cabin above a small mountain village, playing nursemaid to Wade and Ella, taking them hiking and climbing and - Scarlett had to admit - completely out of her hair.

Wade especially was enamored of the older boy. Thad was highly competent in all the things young boys admire most: whittling flutes out of small pieces of wood, whistling shrilly on two fingers, and spitting large amounts of spit precisely into a bucket many feet away. He was also good with dogs: Wade's St. Bernard had become almost as attached to him as his master, and they spend hours "training" him, much to the amusement of both man and beast. Something tight and brittle in Wade stretched and hardened before her eyes, and within weeks he looked like a different creature from the soft, shy boy he had been in Atlanta.

Scarlett would never realize just how much her eldest child had suffered under the collapse of his world the night Atlanta fell, and how deeply the terrors of the years that followed were still entrenched in his soul. The string of losses he'd had to endure – the loss of the soft, feminine comfort of Aunt Pitty's house on Peachtree Street, Franks' assassination, Melly's sudden death and Rhett's subsequent abandonment - had all left deep marks.

Watching him take to Thad so violently, she wondered if perhaps, above all, Wade had missed having a father. Charles had been dead before he'd had a chance to know his son. Frank had never really known what to do with a boy who hid his head in his Mammy's lap if he tried to speak to him, so he had mostly ignored him. And even Rhett - Rhett had been kind, but had never taken much time for an awkward stepchild in his obsessions first with Scarlett, then with Bonnie. In one way or anther, all male role models in his life had let Wade down.

She guessed Rhett must have been thinking along similar lines, for he spent considerable time with both boys when he was there, taking them "hunting" in the mountains - which, Scarlett discovered, meant stalking deer and mountain goats, and pelting a sling in their general direction. It also seemed to involve campfires, and ghost stories, and other, more nefarious goings-on that Wade refused to share with her, but merely hinted at, with a shudder of male satisfaction.

"Boy stuff," he told his mother firmly. "Uncle Rhett says it's not fitting for the ears of ladies."

Scarlett suspected he'd been allowed a chuck of moonshine as an initiation ritual, but wisely resisted pursuing the topic. The two men also spent much more focused hours teaching Wade to shoot targets - stationary and moving ones – initially against Scarlett's wishes, because the noise was deafening, and the echoes reverberated throughout the peaceful mountainside. But Rhett had shrugged. "He's a boy, and there are many dangers in the mountains. He needs to know how to handle a gun – or a pistol for that matter– when I'm not here to defend you."

Seeing how much the role of his mother's and sister's "protector" did for her son's blossoming self-confidence, Scarlett held her tongue. It amused her to see them together: the sight of her usually so well-dressed husband attired in leather trousers and Indian-style shirts was enough to make her peal with laughter. His hair grew longer, and more often than not he sported the stubble of a beard. "Keep it up, and I'll start calling you Trapper Rhett," she teased. That, of course, had been the sign for the little boys of all ages to start inventing "Indian Names" for her and Dilcey: "Walks with a Soup Spoon" probably the kindest amongst them.

But it was here, away from the distractions of society, that they began to feel like a family. Even Ella seemed content. She was, and always would be, a quiet child, who struggled with her lessons and had difficulties concentrating on anything for long, but she was sweet and biddable, helping Dilcey with the cooking and cleaning and folding of laundry. She seemed happy in these simple domestic pursuits, often humming or singing while she went about her small tasks. She would never be beautiful, but her heart-shaped face and reddish-brown hair were not displeasing to look at, and she had inherited her mother's graceful figure and monkey-like agility. Scarlett was not unhopeful she would attract a man in time, and enjoy a quiet, uneventful life as a wife and mother.

All in all, Scarlett was grateful. Grateful for her second chance with Rhett (for surely he would love her again in time?) and grateful for his nephew's cheerful company. But she could not rid herself of a nagging worry, like a _basso continuo_ to the calm melodies of her days.

"Do you think Rhett is ….happy?" she'd asked Thad one evening, when they were alone in the cabin after the children had gone to bed. Rhett had left for Texas three days ago, and as always, in his absence, her worries expanded.

Thad had thrown her a look, one of those looks that made her remember how much older he was in experience than his years suggested. "It's always been hard to say with Uncle Rhett," he'd answered, carefully. " I don't rightly know if I've ever seen him be what you'd call _happy_. He was certainly very happy with ….I mean, he seemed happy enough when he brought your daughter to New Orleans that year, but even then I could tell something was missing. And he's still feeling the loss greatly, for all that he tries to distract himself. A few weeks back, when it was the anniversary of her passing, he was just so…..."

How she remembered that day. The first anniversary of Bonnie's fall. Rhett had been in Colorado, which she'd been grateful for. It was a hard day to face together, but it would have been an even harder day to face alone. After eating breakfast together, she had not seen much of him, and she began to wonder if he would simply spend the day avoiding her. He had gone out into the mountains with Wade and Thad for a few hours. He had chopped wood. He had taught Wade how to build a bench for the front of the house for Scarlett and Ella. He helped Dilcey carry basins full of water for the washing from the near-by stream. He had done everything, in short, except talk to her. In those rare instances when their eyes accidentally met, he'd looked away immediately. Did he still hear those words she had spoken to him after Bonnie's death, in her pain, her rage at fate? She couldn't say.

Later that night, after Wade and Ella were in bed and even Thad had retired early, she had caught him standing by the window, looking out into the dark night. She wondered, briefly, if he had stood like this even during their years in Atlanta, straining his ears for a sea too far away to hear. What else had she done to him, unknowing, unthinking, except accuse him of killing their daughter?

There was a fire in the fireplace, and the flames threw reddish light against the dark wood of the cabin walls. She had walked up to him bravely, and wrapped her arms around him. "Oh Rhett – " she'd cried, softly, "how can we bear it?"

He'd hidden his wet face in her hair. "I don't know," he'd whispered. "Sometimes, I just don't know."

She'd helplessly offered her lips, and then her body for solace, not knowing what else she had to give him. And he had taken both, drinking from her soft, pliable mouth like a man lost in a desert drinking the last drops of water. Something inside of her shifted and expanded as she felt his tight self-control evaporate into nothingness. His hard hands had pushed her towards their bedroom. Once inside, he sank onto the soft furs of the bed, catching her lithe form against his powerful frame. He shrugged off his shirt and trousers while molding her body to his. Months of hard labor and long hikes had melted away the last remnants of civilized softness. He was all hardened muscle and knotted tendons, his dark body gleaming like polished wood in the low fire-light. Before she could catch her breath, his hands were underneath her skirts in a powerful, shearing motion. She had long ago dispensed with corsets in this mountain wilderness, and the dress tore easily, revealing her moonlight skin. He peeled her out of the tattered clothing like a Venus out of a seashell, lifted her body high into the air like a dancer before lowering it down onto his.

She usually attempted to be quiet during their lovemaking, conscious of the way sound carried in the log cabin, but that night, she had abandoned herself completely to him, heedless of who heard her. It was late, Wade and Ella both slept very soundly, and Thad – Thad had had a girl in his room that night. And the wind had been very loud, she reasoned the next morning, after she had regained the capacity for rational thought. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if the wink the boy greeted her with the next morning had anything to do with …..

"I heard some owls last night," he'd told Wade in an aside whisper over breakfast. "Or maybe not owls. It was too loud for 'em. Musta been wildcats. They make the most …._.piercing_ howls."

Rhett had choked on his coffee, the shadows of the night submerged in the new light and friendly laughter.

~~o~~

Finally, as August melted into September and the first of many gloriously reddish leaves began to coat the mountainside, Scarlett was given leave by Dr. Gustafson and her husband to go to her new "home." She was both elated and saddened to leave the cabin that had been her hideaway from the world for the last months. She would miss the three small pine trees next to her window, were the birds sang so sweetly in the morning. She would miss the lilting song of the young girl who brought the basket of food up from the village every day. And she would miss those rare evenings with Rhett, on the bench in front of the house, when he'd held her and they'd looked out into the glory of the mountainside, talking of nothing in particular, but feeling closer than they'd had for years.

It was a fatiguing trip across the country, one that would have been much easier only a decade later. But in 1874, the Kansas-Missouri-Texas railroad tracks connected only the very northern part of the State of Texas with the transcontinental lines, and Rhett evidenced no desire to shuttle his wife and children over a potentially hostile land-route by carriage or wagon. So he returned them to New Orleans by train, and took them to Galveston harbor by boat, the same route by which he had shipped their belongings and the rest of their household a few months earlier.

Scarlett, unlike most travelers, was oblivious to the beauty and ferocity of the continent she crossed. The glories of the Rockies, the vastness of the Great Plains, and even the hills of her beloved Southland, were all lost on her. She did not return to herself until they arrived back in New Orleans, filled with memories of happier days. Who had she been, that Scarlett O'Hara who had passed such a carefree honeymoon here, almost a lifetime ago?

Thad disappeared for a few hours, probably to catch up with old friends, but Rhett did not allow them to linger long. He'd checked them into a genteel hotel by the shore with no association to their past, and the very next day, they left on a schooner for Texas. Scarlett was left to wonder if he really felt pressed for time, or simply wanted to avoid the memories the city evoked. His face, or his voice, gave away nothing.

Galveston itself was a revelation. Rhett had likened it to Charleston, which, Scarlett suspected, was partially why he had chosen it as their new residence. He himself would become fond of saying he chose the small barrier island because its first known European Settler, Jean Lafitte, had been a pirate. "You'll find it's not too different from Georgia," he'd told her. "I hope you'll enjoy living here, at any rate."

Over time, Scarlett found he'd been both right and wrong. Just like Atlanta, Texas was a young country in many ways. Just like Atlanta, it was in the middle of an economic recession. Just like the rest of the South, it had undergone defeat, and rebirth, and was still in the process of redefining its future.

Its erstwhile inhabitants were in their death-throes. Just before Scarlett had moved in, during the summer of 1874, the United States Army had launched a final, massive campaign against the Comanche, Kiowa, Cheyenne, and Arapaho Indian tribes from the Southern Plain. Buffalo hunters were hunting the last of the great American Bison nearly to extinction. The final surrender of Quanah Parker, leader of the last free Comanche Tribe, was only a year away. The survivors would be driven to live on reservations, and a violent, volatile chapter of the American frontier would be closed forever.

Like Georgia, Texas was a former Confederate State that had recently shed Republican rule, and was firmly back in the hands of the Democrats. But by the time the Butlers moved West in 1874, it was well on the road to becoming a Western State, the cotton trade and plantations losing ground and influence to the ranchers; an influence that would expand and grow with the advent of the railroad to the farther corners of the State. It was a time of opportunities, of fortunes lost and made. The thought brought a gleam to Scarlett's eyes.

~~o~~

Scarlett stood at the bottom of the stairs to her new home. Her staff stood in attendance, beaming at her, as she slowly walked up the steps on Rhett's arm. Uncle Henry, looking years younger than when she had last seem him, stood at the top, ready to usher them in. The beautiful white door swung back to reveal a light oak floor, covered at intervals with tasteful Persian carpets. The furniture was mostly upholstered in light fabrics and crafted of imported honey oak, dotted sparsely with darker walnut and mahogany pieces from the Peachtree Mansion. Scarlett was at first taken aback that nothing "matched" in the way that she had always associated with high elegance, but slowly, while walking around the house, she was able to see the serene beauty of what Rhett had managed to achieve. Everything felt airy, light, and warm.

When she reached the tower sitting room, she exclaimed "oh, the darling thing!" Here was a soft floral theme, the red and beige carpet displaying tiny pink roses, echoed sparingly in the light, elegant settees by the windows. Small white side tables displayed shell-shaped vases. A marble dancer stood in a corner, contrasting against the sea-blue wallpaper. And the Gulf of Mexico could be seen in all of its magnificence from the three southern windows. Scarlett had never seen a more beautiful room in her life. "If only Mrs. Merriwether could see this!" she thought.

The bedrooms on the third floor were equally lovely. Wade and Ella squealed with delight at the rooms that had been designated to them: a boat theme dominating Wade's room, with a large cushion for his dog at his bedside. A model boat prow, several feet in diameter, had been fastened securely over the head of his bed. Ella's room was pink and white, all flowing lace and spun gaze. Bonnie's cat, which Ella had insisted on bringing along, had already installed itself on the bed, staring at them with baleful green eyes.

The Master bedroom faced towards the Gulf, which could be seen through the South-facing windows as well as from the small, private balcony. It was like sleeping next to the sea. Scarlett stepped into it with wonder, admiring the elegant four-poster bed, which had silk curtains that could be drawn shut - and close out the world. Had he chosen it with her in mind? She turned crimson at the thought.

But the biggest surprise was waiting for her when she returned downstairs. Rhett showed her into the drawing-room, where she found an unknown couple sitting hand-in hand on one of the settees. She experienced a flash of annoyance - she had wanted time to settle down and acquaint herself with the house - when the man rose, and walked over to her with out-streched hands. He grabbed her by the shoulders, beaming at her.

"Scarlett! Scarlett, you fetching thing...you look lovelier than ever! I couldn't believe it when I'd heard you married this renegade here." At her confused expression, he laughed. "I am hurt beyond words, my dear! Don't you recognize me?"

The ruddy, handsome face swam into focus. She saw a pair of dancing, black eyes, and almost fainted. "Tony!"


	17. Wonderland

_**Caterpillar:** Who are YOU?_

_**Alice:** This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. I - I hardly know, sir, just at present - at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then._

_**The Duchess: **I quite agree with you. And the moral of that is: Be what you would seem to be, or if you'd like it put more simply: Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise._

_ - Lewis Carrol, Alice in Wonderland_

* * *

"None other," Tony Fontaine confirmed with a wide grin. He looked so much like himself that Scarlett wondered how she could have failed to recognize him immediately. "Meet Jane, my wife. Jane, this is Scarlett ...Butler, I believe it is now, by Jove! Scarlett O'Hara Butler." Scarlett and the petite strawberry-blond woman on the settee nodded at each other in polite acknowledgement. Tony turned to Rhett, and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I would never have guessed, that day at the Twelve Oaks barbecue, that_ you'd_ be the one to ultimately run off with the prize of Six Counties."

It was good-natured banter, but more perceptive eyes than Scarlett's would have seen a sour look on Jane Fontaine's face at her husband's glowing praise of a woman from his past.

"Yes," Rhett drawled, drawing closer to Scarlett, as if he, too, got no real pleasure from the exchange. "I'm rather amazed myself at my - good fortune." He introduced Thad ("my nephew from Charleston") and Wade and Ella.

Tony shook hands with Thad in the most natural manner. If rumors had travelled from Atlanta to Texas about Thad's parentage, or the "send-off" the Butlers had given, Tony gave no indication of it. Then he turned to Wade. "Charles Hamilton's son," Tony wondered. "I can't believe how much you've grown! You're almost a man now. And this is Ella? Your father was an excellent man, my pretty one, but be thankful you take after your mother in looks. And speaking for myself, I've always liked redheads," he added, with a wink at his wife. "They're the only ones that can handle my temper."

"But Tony ..." Scarlett asked, unable to contain herself. "What have you been doing? And you're married! Do you have children? Tell me all about it!"

Her eyes sparkled with real pleasure. She'd felt so far away from everything that had once been home.

Tony laughed. "I've been growing cotton, since that's what I knew how to do. Made good money at first, but the returns have been diminishing. It's this damned depression, if you ladies will excuse my language. I've thought about the cattle business, and that renegade husband and I may decide on some joint ventures." He paused. "And no, Jane and I haven't been blessed with children."

There was a flash of pain on his face, and his wife's figure stiffened on her seat.

"I wrote to Tony, informing him of our move," Rhett said, smoothly, giving the conversation an adroit turn. "Will got me his directions through his brother Alex. I've been grateful for his help, and his knowledge of the local business."

"Do you live in Galveston?" Scarlett asked, eagerly. She threw Rhett an unselfconsciously adoring look, her heart written in her face. How kind of him to contact Tony, and invite him to greet her on her arrival - he must know how she was pining for Tara, and for home. Perhaps he cared about her more than he admitted?

"We live in Austin now," Jane Fontaine said, quietly, rising to take her hands. "We have a summer house in Galveston, and we know almost everyone. It's a small place." The sour look had vanished as if by magic. "I look forward to introducing you to all my friends."

Scarlett brightened even more. How helpful it would be to have an established female take her under her wings! She vowed she would be have like a perfect lady, and make Rhett proud.

"I would invite you to tea, but I'm afraid I've only just arrived," she confided to Jane with her most charming smile. "You'll wonder at me for not even having seen the kitchen! But here is Pork," she said, "and I see he's brought tea and cake. My cook is German, and even though she ...well, let's say her cakes are better than her attitude."

Jane laughed. "Yes, I understand. My personal maid has the most punitive tongue! But she's known me since birth and she won't let anyone but herself abuse me."

"Does she do your hair?" Scarlett asked, with genuine interest. She had never seen such a style before, a crown of intricate braids. It was very becoming, and not in the usual style of elegance.

"Yes, and I'm sure she would be happy to assist you too, when we're going out together. Which I hope will be often."

"Would you be liking your tea here, or in the tower room, Miss Scarlett," Pork asked, patiently.

She was momentarily confused. "Oh, in the tower room, please!" She turned to the Jane. "I'm sure Rhett has shown you the sitting-room in the tower, but it's all so new and exciting to me that I can't wait to have tea there. And here you are, providing me with the perfect excuse and I've only just arrived. I can't thank you enough." Not a word about being tired, and wishing them all to Halifax right now so she could wash up and nap, delighted as she was about their acquaintance.

Thad winked at her. They had become like siblings over the many months they had spent together. Aside from Rhett, he was probably the person who knew her best in the world now, and she had long since given up on being anything but herself around him. Thad had dropped his flirting, which his good sense told him would have been inappropriate under the circumstances, and Scarlett treated him so fraternally that Dilcey had no compunction about going to bed early most nights. Emboldened by their friendship, Scarlett had confessed her lack of girl-friends to him one boring summer evening in their mountain exile, and from then on they had spent many future evenings perfecting her "saloon-talk" - by which Thad meant harmless, but flattering phrases that would set other women at their ease. By the end, she'd become quite adroit. It was really no different than the equally rehearsed phrases she had used to draw men into her circle, although both tone and content necessarily differed when talking to ladies. A matter of mathematics - and Scarlett had always been good at mathematics. It was a wonder she had never realized how easy it could be.

If she was honest with herself - and she was honest with herself more often of late - she simply hadn't cared enough to try.

"You'll do," he'd finally said, laughing. "You still don't _feel_ it, and you'll be much better at it when you do. But you'll pass, and that's all that matters. You're not a bad person by half, Auntie Scarlett, and if you don't try to pull anything too scandalous I don't see why any number of fine ladies wouldn't want to be your friend."

Tea was a festive affair, despite their fatigue. The cakes were excellent, Jane couldn't praise them enough, and Scarlett agreed to have Elsa teach the Fontaine's cook her recipes.

"Not for Galveston," Jane had laughed. "It'll help to have something so unique when you're starting out. But I'll use them in Austin. How surprised my friends will be!"

The view was awe-inspiring. Whenever there was a lull in conversation, one could point out a gull, or particularly high breakers, or walkers on the beach. It was most opportune.

The Fontaines did not tax them unduly. Before too much time had passed, Jane signaled to Tony and rose, thanking Scarlett charmingly for the refreshments and her delightful company, but she trusted they were tired from their journey, and would want a chance to settle in before nightfall.

~~o~~

Life in the new house quickly became routine, and before long, it was hard to remember they had ever lived anywhere else. Scarlett hired a local tutor for Wade and Ella, a widow by the name of Mrs. Elsingston, who was herself a retired schoolteacher. They both took very well to life by the water, playing for hours outside with their dog. Wade acquired an even darker tan than the mountain sun had already given him. Scarlett ignored his looks, but despaired of Ella's complexion. Her daughter was too apt to lose her hat, and return sunburned and freckled.

Jane Fontaine had been as good as her word. She'd introduced her to Mrs. White, and Mrs. Liddle, and Mrs. Bunting, who presided over the town's active social circles. Mrs. Bunting especially had delighted over Scarlett's German cook, being the daughter of German immigrants herself.

"My maiden name is Warschheimer," she'd confided, laughing. "It'll be good to eat the kind of cakes my dear, departed mother used to bake." Her eyes lit up when Elsa came in with the tray. She sampled a piece before it had even been properly set down.

"Guten Tag! Ihr Kuchen ist wirklich ausgezeichnet. Koennen Sie mir sagen, wie Sie diese Crèmefuellung zustande gebracht haben?"

Elsa's scowling gnome-face became even darker. "We are in America now, yes? We speak English." She grabbed the empty tray, and disappeared from the room.

Scarlett blushed. She was used to Elsa, but she wasn't used to having to explain her manners, or lack thereof, to company. "I must apologize for my cook, Mrs. Bunting. She's not the most cheerful of people, and I try not to inflict her on my guests! But her cooking is really excellent, and her baking is better."

"My dear Mrs. Butler! Think nothing of it, " Mrs. Bunting assured her majestically. "We've all had our share of problems with the help." The other ladies looked at each other, and all nodded somberly. "If they're not complaining, they're forever giving notice, because someone else is paying them three cents more! It's hard enough to keep a cook these days. And these cakes –they definitely make her worth having around." She grabbed another spoonful of chocolate crème cake, and sighed ecstatically.

Scarlett was a success. She kept all of Thad's training firmly in mind, and was surprised its implementation worked even better than she had expected. She was kindly received, even sought out, by the upper crust of the small seaport, and the sheer novelty of the experience made her giddy. How fun it was to be popular, to be approved of by her own sex! She couldn't have explained it, nor did she know her success had less to do with an adroit or learned turn of phrase, than with her genuine desire for friendship, and – this was no small matter – her obvious adoration for her husband. Just like Jane Fontaine, none of the fine ladies missed her eyes lighting up whenever Rhett entered a room, or spoke kindly to her, or was even mentioned casually in conversation. Once they understood that Scarlett was no threat to their husbands, or would not attempt to lead their sons from the path of true virtue, they were willing to see her vivacity, her beauty and her charm in an almost entirely positive light.

Such a lovely creature, that young Mrs. Butler! And it was delightful to see a wife of such long standing so obviously in love. There was no doubt to anyone where her affections lay. The men saw it as well, and ribbed both Rhett and Scarlett good-naturedly about it.

"That little filly of yours thinks you walk on water," Tony Fontaine told Rhett in a loud aside, when Scarlett was standing nearby. "Won't give any of us the time of day, once you show up. Can't understand it. Bill and John and I are almost as good looking as you, and some of us have even smaller feet." He held up his own, elegant riding boots as if in demonstration. "But does she see it? Not at all! Instead, she looks at you hardened old pirate as if she could eat you with a spoon." Scarlett blushed furiously, and didn't dare look at Rhett, who merely smiled in that infuriating way of his.

"A woman of good sense," he drawled, seemingly returning the fun. Yet when he passed her to pour more brandy for the gentlemen from the decanter, he whispered in her ear, "better very late in the game than never, don't you think?"

Scarlett smarted under the words, and even more under the almost vicious tone in which he'd spoken them. He was doing it again – the barbs, the sarcasms, the thinly veiled insults. She didn't understand it. They had been getting on so well in Colorado, and for the first few weeks after she had arrived in Galveston. She had tried so hard to please him, and make the kind of friends he would want to have around his children. She had even found a store on Main Street that would be perfect for….

The store! She recalled that his change in attitude had coincided almost perfectly with her buying a store in Galveston, and writing to Thomas Whiting to come manage it for her. Hugh Elsing had recovered sufficiently to run her Atlanta Store again, and Thomas was free. After receiving her letter, Thomas had wired back that he would arrive in two weeks. Perhaps Rhett disapproved of her working after all, and just wouldn't admit it? She sighed. She was of half a mind to go back out of the sale, and write Thomas not to come after all, but she resisted. If Rhett didn't love her as who she was, there was no point in twisting herself into a pretzel to try to please him. If he didn't love her, at least he should respect her. And no matter how much he goaded her, he would find her the perfect lady in everything, she resolved.

~~o~~

As the next few days passed, she found her resolve to hold her tongue increasingly difficult to keep. Rhett, it seemed, was going out of his way to be as mean and nasty as possible. Oh, never in company! He was the epitome of a loving, deferential husband in public, or in front of the children and staff. But when they were alone, he reverted back to the former version of himself, the version that lashed out without provocation, and reveled in making her temper flare.

Except – except at night, when he pulled her to him as if the disagreements of the day had never happened. He was as tender and loving and passionate with his body as he was acerbic with his tongue. It was maddening, and it was driving her insane. What was worse, she was starting to lose respect for herself. Scarlett O'Hara, the _old_ Scarlett O'Hara, would never have permitted a man to treat her like this. The old Scarlett O'Hara would have had much too much pride. Of course, the old Scarlett O'Hara had also been unhappy.

She sighed. It seemed like her new self was destined to have neither happiness nor pride.

On the night before Thomas' arrival, she had finally had enough. It had been an especially tiresome day, with Rhett making so many pointed, negative remarks about their shared past, and her current character, that she despaired he would ever be able to forgive her, and move forward. She'd taken Wade's dog for a walk down the beach by herself for an hour to clear her head, staring at the foam of the breakers for almost an hour while the animal gamboled around her. There was an odd weather outside, a wind at once weak and sharp, and a sky that looked neither like rain nor sunshine, but was streaked with light and grays of all shadings. The ancients would have called it a day of portent. She tracked the flight of gulls far to the horizons, until they became lost in the grey and the white of the sky.

And when she turned for home, there was resolve in her eyes.

She was sitting at her dressing-table, combing her hair, when he walked in, as nonchalantly as always, and she knew it would only be minutes before he took the brush out of her hands to comb her dark tresses himself, and the time for conversation would be over. She swiveled around to face him.

"Rhett, we need to talk."

A sudden, watchful gleam appeared in his eyes, as if he had been waiting for this opening. But his voice and his expression remained smooth and bland, giving away nothing. "I didn't really come here to talk."

"That's just what I wanted to talk to you about! Rhett, I don't know what's gotten into you over the last few weeks, but you're …..so nasty and mean to me all the time, and I don't know what I've done! I've tried to be a good wife, and a better mother. I've tried to be a good friend to Thad, and a good mistress to our servants. I even tried to be a friend to Belle! And I've done my best be a good hostess, and make a place in society for Wade and Ella, and any children ….I mean, for all of us. I thought that's what you wanted. But now….." she added dispiritedly, "I'm not so sure."

He said nothing. Even more to her surprise, he did not try to defend himself. Instead, he took up his customary spot by the curtain, staring out to into the vastness of the Gulf. How she had hoped that the sea would bring him closer to her. Instead it seemed to be churning up all the anger and the dark emotions she had hoped they had long moved past.

"You see, Rhett, how our roles are reversed? You knew I didn't love you when you asked me to marry you, but still you took a chance. I knew you didn't love me when I agreed to move West with you, but like you, I held out hope that in time, you might come to care for me again. Well, what was it you told me last year, back in Atlanta? "I tried everything I knew but nothing worked". I tried everything too, and it isn't working."

"I thought …." She hiccupped, close to tears, but unwilling to let him see her cry, "I thought that at the very least, we'd become friends again. I thought, that you could find that quiet, graceful existence you wanted with us just as easily as in London, or Paris, or wherever else you were thinking of going. I thought I loved you enough for both of us."

"But."

She stared at him in confusion.

"I'm hearing a "but" coming on in that interesting diatribe. " When she still looked confused, he clarified. "This is what you thought previously. Now you think ….."

"What?"

"That's the part you haven't shared with me yet. I am waiting, as they say, with bated breath, for the rest."

She couldn't understand how he could have it in him to mock her at such a moment, when she was baring her heart, but she had gone too far to stop. "I realized that you couldn't be happy if you're treating me like this. You must be truly miserable, because when you were acting this way in the past, you were miserable. If you're this unhappy having all my love, my love obviously isn't what you need. And I don't want you to be miserable." A decided quiver had come into her voice. "And what's more, Rhett, I don't want to be miserable myself. I deserve better than a man who treats me like dirt during the day but is all too willing to use me for his pleasure in his bed. And I even want more than a man who's just _kind_ to me. I want a man that loves me wholly and truly, just like I love him."

"Thad told me about your sessions in the mountains," he drawled. "Did he ever get around to explaining that it's always best to take what people do at face value, not what they say?"

She shook her head, not understanding his meaning. No, she would not be deterred from saying her piece. If she lost momentum now, she was unsure if she'd ever find the heart again to say what she knew she needed to say. "What I'm trying to say is – you're free to go. I'm releasing you from your obligations that you feel you acquired when I rescued Thad, and let him stay with us. Consider it payment for the times I treated you shabbily in the past. You ….you could go for an extended trip to Paris, or London, or any of those places you were talking about, and see if they have what you need. You never did have a chance to try your plan, what with the recession, and then first one thing and another calling you back to Atlanta. We can come up with a plausible story for the others. People here are not like the folks in Atlanta – they're always coming and going themselves. Uncle Henry can escort me to all the functions. And if you find you like London, or Paris, and feel you can be happy there, we can tell everybody you drowned at sea, and you never have to see us again."

It had all come out quiet fluently, and almost calmly. She drew a shaky breath. Was it possibly for one's heart to explode in one's chest? Could one die on the spot from pain, like the heroines in the novels Cara Harrison had talked about so often?

Her eyes stung with all the unshed tears, and she blinked furiously. She wished, suddenly, as she had not since the day they'd resumed sleeping together, that she had a room of her own to hide in. Finally, she lifted her eyes to his, hoping against hope that he would protest, assure her he was staying. Assure her of his love.

But instead, he appeared to be watching her curiously. "So you're telling me to leave?"

She nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.

He walked swiftly towards her, and before she could protest, drew her into his arms. "My brave Scarlett." He was kissing her hair, and mumbling other, incomprehensive things into her dark locks. Then he knelt in front of her, lifting her chin, staring into her large, wet green eyes. "Thank you, my dear. I'll ready the schooner first thing in the morning."

Tomorrow! He must have been aching to get away from her, held in place only by his sense of guilt and obligation, just as she had feared. It was all, all over. All her hopes, all her efforts, had been in vain. She felt her shoulders start to heave, and she buried her head in her arm. She felt strong arms lift her, pulling her to him, holding her close. He kissed her wet cheeks, her lips, her eyes. He gently laid her onto the bed and made tender love to her for hours, as if he were memorizing every curve of her body, every plane of her face. She wept through much of it, even while responding to his touch, his tenderness. In case this was the last time. In case she never saw him again.

After all they had been through, after how deeply she had learned to love him - how could he leave her? she thought, trying to rouse protective anger, and failing. How could she bear it?

~~o~~

The next morning, she stood with the children and Dilcey at the harbor of Galveston, ready to see Rhett off. They had agreed to forgo a large send-off, in order to avoid suspicion. Rhett had circulated a rumor about urgent business affairs in Charleston. He had packed lightly, and she tried to tell herself that this was a positive sign, that he didn't intend to stay long. But in her heart, she knew she was deluding herself. He had enough money to buy himself whatever he needed in whatever port of the world his fancy decided to land him. They said their good-byes quickly, and Scarlett tried not to cry, to maintain the illusion that their cover-story was true, that this was only a brief parting for business reasons. She watched him loosen the ropes, and the boat gained momentum slowly. Just before he was too far away to see, she saw his lips moving, as if he was trying to say something to her, but the wind tore at his words, if he had even spoken them aloud.

The children seemed surprisingly calm, Wade even more than Ella. He curtly told her not to be a baby when she attempted to shed a single tear, and pulled both Scarlett and his sister away from the harbor almost before the schooner was out of sight.

She did not see him staring in their direction long after they had disappeared from sight, nor did she hear the words he did speak aloud, more to himself and the vastness of the blue around him than to the deity he was addressing: _A Dieu Vat._

* * *

_Thank you for the reviews - and to those that asked, yes, I do intend to resolve the murder mystery. In fact, I feel whodunnit is only a chapter away. Hope you enjoy._

_PS: Since several people have asked: "à dieu vat" is a very old-fashioned maritime expression. Has to do with the the sailors putting themselves and their vessels into the hands of God. "As God Wills It" or "Leave it to Fate" would probably be approximate modern translations._


	18. The Sum Of All the Rage

_He piled upon the whale's white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart's shell upon it. _  
_- Melville, Moby Dick_

* * *

The next few days passed as if in a daze. Scarlett went about her chores like a sleepwalker, performing the necessary motions, but life had lost its luster even more irrevocably than when Rhett had left Atlanta for the first time over a year earlier. Then, she had still held out some hope. Now, what hope was there for her?

What was worse, she caught herself second-guessing her decision more than she would have wished. Had sending him away really been the right thing to do? Should she have waited longer? Could she have tried harder? "But no," she thought despondently, each time her circular reflections reached this particular point - "he wouldn't stay under the same roof with me for even one more day once I released him from his obligations. I can't keep a man bound to me by pity, and duty. I _won't_ keep a man tied to me who doesn't love me. If he really needed to get away from me that badly, good riddance to him!"

No matter how often she performed this futile exercise, it always felt like she'd made the right decision in the end. But that conviction failed to warm her broken heart, nor could it comfort her at night, when her bed seemed huge and empty without Rhett to hold her close, without the sound of his breathing next to hers when she fell asleep. His mere presence had lit up the dark spaces of her world in ways she had not imagined before she knew she loved him. Even when he was not there, she could hope he would step into the room at any minute, speak softly to her, draw her to him. Now, she slept poorly again. She tossed and turned and kicked at the covers, the animal instinct he had awakened within her writhing and calling for its mate. But that was not the worst of it. Had that been all, it would have passed eventually, her body's boundaries reformed, her skin hardened. But that part of her love that was not sensuality, that was pure, wondering delight in the beloved's presence, was equally bereft.

She wondered, briefly, if _her_ presence in his life had felt similarly to him early on in their relationship; if even without loving him, she had given him moments of joy simply by being _with_ him: alive, breathing, smiling, close. She asked herself if he had married her for that joy, as much as for any hopes he had of making her love him.

Scarlett experienced a brief, unexpected pang of gratitude for his meanness. Had he not shown her so plainly how he truly felt, she might have gone on forever, drinking in small sips from that chalice of poisoned bliss, slowly dying inside. As he had.

~~o~~

The arrival of Thomas, and the setting up of the new store, brought welcome distraction. With the able assistance of Uncle Henry, Thomas was quickly connected to a genteel widow in constrained circumstances just down the street, who was delighted to let him a room. With his lodgings secured, he went about the task of organizing the "best store in Galveston" with relentless enthusiasm. Thad and Wade offered to help with the heavy lifting, and the three boys seemed on track to becoming fast friends. Scarlett offered detailed instructions for the layout and the organizing of the merchandise once the shelves were refinished, drawing heavily on Rhett's suggestions for her Atlanta store during the recession. But her heart wasn't in it. She found her thoughts wondering while trying to add up a sum of figures in the ledger, while spending time with the children, when out socializing with Uncle Henry. Her new friends were charming and kind, and exquisitely understanding - of course the lovely Mrs. Butler would miss her dashing husband while he was gone - and attempted to brighten her mood with a string of gayeties. She attended them all, smiling mechanically, and leaving as quickly as she could without arousing suspicion.

There was an air of unreality hanging over the Galveston mansion, compounded by a string of oddities. It started off on the very day of Rhett's departure, after they'd returned from the harbor, when Thad asked her permission to move into the small, second-story study room. "I talked about it with Uncle Rhett before he left, and he said it was alright with him. He's not using that room for anything in particular."

Scarlett winced. No, indeed, Rhett wasn't using that room. He wasn't using any room in the house, perhaps ever again. Nonetheless, she tried asking Thad why he wouldn't rather stay in his spacious, third-story bedroom with its beautiful view over the water. He had merely laughed. "Humor me, Auntie Scarlett. I get odd notions sometimes, and it's best to indulge me."

Scarlett sighed, but offered no further objections. He was a young man after all, and perhaps he needed more privacy than the upstairs bedroom could offer, what with the children and herself lodged on the same floor. Once he had her consent, he enlisted Wade and Thomas to help carry the furniture, and within a few hours they had made a comfortable, if not particularly spacious, bedroom out of the small study. Thad pronounced it to be perfect in every way. But in the days that followed, she noted that he looked tired most mornings at the breakfast table, as if he hadn't slept much after all. Even Wade looked fatigued - as did Pork, for that matter. Had she not been so heartbroken and distracted, she would have enquired into it more closely. As it was, she merely told Wade and Thad not to burn the night-light so much with their reading, and ordered Pork not to overtax himself.

It was a couple of days before Scarlett realized another, strange change had taken place in her household, this time for the better. Elsa's attitude had undergone a one-hundred and eighty degree reversal, at least with regards to herself. Scarlett would go so far as to say she had become ...friendly. Her gnome-face brightened whenever Scarlett entered a room, and she became almost as motherly and hovering as Dilcey when it came to Scarlett's health and well-being.

"You must eat. It ez not gut to skip meals," she told Scarlett severely, when Scarlett had once more pushed back her plate without sampling the food. " She cooked Scarlett's favourite Southern dishes to perfection, and insisted she try "a bite of zis, and a bite of zat," before allowing her to get up. She brought Scarlett blankets to place over her knees if she was sitting outside on the second-floor terrace. "It ez not gut for Madam to catch a chill."

It was entirely mystifying.

"Who is this woman and what has she done with Elsa?" she asked Dilcey, but Dilcey merely shrugged.

One afternoon, while she was sitting on the terrace, she had cried silently, thinking about Rhett, her eyes trained into the distance. Elsa walked up behind her without Scarlett's noticing her presence, and she started slightly when Elsa began speaking. "Don't cry Madam. He was a bad, bad man. I hear all about how bad he treated you, and zat you sent him away because he never cared for you, only for his children. The one that died, and now, zat ... zat .." She nodded with determination. "He is not a good man," she repeated, "and I am glad he is gone. You did very gut, Madam. Don't cry. He ez not worth it. Never worth it."

Scarlett looked at her in astonishment. Who could have told Elsa such tales? But for whatever reason, sending Rhett away seemed to have elevated her significantly in Elsa's eyes, and the kitchen was a more cheerful place. Scarlett desperately needed cheerful places.

Between the store, her family, and her growing circle of friends, she should have had enough to occupy herself. But somehow, everything seemed to have lost its meaning.

~~o~~

Two weeks after Rhett's departure, Scarlett was awakened by a strange noise. It sounded for all the world like the piercing screech of an owl. But there were no owls here, she thought groggily to herself, not so close to the water. She blinked several times, trying to see the clock in the corner of the room. Two a.m. in the morning. She grabbed her dressing gown and stumbled outside, but the corridor was dark and deserted, and all doors to the children's rooms were closed.

Her feet in her soft slippers made no sound as she descended down the stairs.

"Stand back, Scarlett."

She emerged from the staircase, stumbling into the most bizarre scene of her life. In the light of the full moon, just above the staircase that led to the ground floor, stood Elsa, in her dressing gown - surrounded by Thad, Pork and Wade, who were pointing their guns at her chest. Next to Elsa stood another man, in street clothes, also armed - pointing his gun at Thad.

"What is the meaning of this," Scarlett cried, horrified. She felt like she had stepped into a nightmare. Then she recognized another figure, a tall, dark, shadow, slowly coming up the stairs from behind.

"Rhett!" What was he doing here? When had he come back? And why ...

"Stay were you are, Scarlett," Rhett said. "Nobody moves. If you shoot that weapon, Thomas Whiting, I will shoot your mother first, and you next. I can drill a dime at fifty paces, and I can put a bullet into either of you wherever I chose at this range."

He fully emerged from the staircase, and his pistol gleamed like liquid black in the moonlight.

"His mother? Rhett, what is the meaning of this?" Scarlett cried, completely bewildered.

"Stay back, Scarlett. At the very least, move a few steps up the stairs." She obeyed, but wasn't about to stay silent. Had everyone gone mad? "Put your guns down, and tell me what this is all about!"

None of the other figures had moved. Thad, Pork and Wade still trained their guns on Elsa. Rhett's pistol was aimed at Thomas, and Thomas pointed his gun at Thad.

"Wade Hampton!" Scarlett cried. "Put that gun down, and go to your room at once!"

Wade did not seem to hear her. Not a muscle twitched on his face, and he didn't move his eyes from his target. He looked altogether alien.

"Rhett!"

"The meaning of this?" Elsa said, in a voice completely unlike her own. Her accent was no longer German, but was tinged with the rich, Charlstonian drawl that made Rhett's voice so pleasant to listen to. "The meaning of all this is that this man, your husband, Mrs. Butler, has killed my daughter, and my husband. And he _murdered_ my son. And for that, and more, I would have killed his child."

"Killed your ...Elsa! I don't understand."

"You see, Scarlett, her name isn't Elsa Schmitz like you thought," Rhett said, softly, his eyes never leaving Elsa's face. "And she isn't German, either. Scarlett, may I present you to Vera Rutherford, formerly one of the greatest actresses of the Charleston Theatre. Renowned for her roles as Lady Macbeth and Ophelia, as well as many others. Before she married Mr. William Sutcliff of Charleston, who fell in love with her during a production of ...what was it?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," the other woman replied. She had straightened up from Elsa's habitual slouch, and suddenly seemed taller, and more imposing. She pushed back her grey hair, and looked around haughtily. "I was the most acclaimed Titiania in the history of the Planter's Hotel."

"But why ... why did you work here under a false name? I don't understand!"

"You see, Scarlett, what you don't know is that Vera Sutcliff, nee Rutherford, was the mother of _Amelia_ Sutcliff. But even that would tell you nothing. What would help you is knowing Amelia Sutcliff was the name of the young lady I compromised by failing to bring her back home before dark because our buggy overturned. Or that the reason I had to leave Charleston was the unfortunate outcome of the duel with Amelia's brother, John." He regarded her face in the moonlight. "I wouldn't have recognized you. I only saw you briefly when I picked up Amelia that day, and it was well over two decades ago."

"You killed my son," Vera said, icily.

"I had no choice."

"John is the one that had no choice! You had ruined his sister, and besmirched his family's good name. And my daughter was ruined for life. She never married, never recovered. She wasted away before my eyes." Her voice, no longer striving to portray a foreign accent that was not hers, was rich with an entire tapestry of ancient pain. It was a vibrant, powerful voice. A voice that could whisper incantations, and command death. "My son was dead. My husband died the next year from a broken heart. I lost everyone - everyone I ever cared about - because of you."

"But Thomas ..." Scarlett still couldn't understand. An actress named Vera! Who had been in her house, pretending to be a German cook. But who had actually ...

"Ah, yes," Rhett said, still in that ominious, soft tone "A few years after the death of Mr. Sutcliff, his widow remarried. To an obscure gentleman from Savannah engaged in a respectable line of trade, by the name of James Whiting. They had one son. Thomas. Mr. James Whiting passed away last year, and perhaps never knew what furies he had nursed at his bosom. The boy on the other hand, I assume, was weaned on the milk of the revenge that he would one day fulfill against the murderer of his brother, and his sister."

"But ...why did they try to shoot Thad? How would that have ..."

"Vera made the same mistake that you did, Scarlett." Rhett answered, his eyes never wavering from Vera's face. "She believes that Thad is my son."

"He _is_ your son!" Vera nearly shouted. "We have it on the best of information. And if he wasn't ...why would you have taken him in, and brought him here with you?"

"My brother's son," Rhett said, firmly. "who has been my ward, and my responsibility for most of his life." He smiled amicably at Vera, baring all of his many white teeth. "Your reaction to Belle when she visited the house on Peachtree Street was very helpful. Up until then, you'd played your role very well, merely scowling indiscriminatingly at everyone. But you lost your composure then - enough to make me wonder if there was a possible connection between Scarlett's staff to Belle's that I'd overlooked."

"She's a common whore," Vera spat out. "who gave birth to a bastard. But I could tell she was starting to make Thomas soft with her whorish tricks. I know girls like her from my time on the stage. They are scum, but they know how to draw in a man. He almost didn't want to go through with the plan anymore, because the bastard was _her_ son, too!"

"That's as may be," Rhett replied almost gently. "However, we will not get into that now. We will focus on the fact that you're surrounded, and badly outnumbered. The police is on their way." His voice became sharper and colder. "Put down your weapon, Thomas, or I swear by God, your mother is dead."

Thomas, who had been listening to the whole exchange with an increasingly white face, let his arm sink. "You're saying ...he isn't really your..."

"No, I'm not his son," Thad replied. "He's my uncle. And _you_ ..." he swiveled his gun around to point it at Thomas ..."are as good as dead. You killed an innocent girl, a girl I happened to love more than anything else in the world. I should shoot you myself, right now, before the police gets here." His eyes were hard as flint.

Vera Whiting made a gasping sound. "No ...no...not another one of my children..." She lunged forward, and grabbed Thomas' arm, pointing the muzzle at her own chest instead. She turned her head towards Rhett, locking his dark eyes into hers. "Save him", she whispered, and with a fluid motion, moved Thomas' thumb to pull the trigger. The pistol made a sharp crackling sound in the night, like a whiplash. Vera crumpled in a heap on the floor.

For half of a heart-beat, no one moved.

"No ...mother...Thomas cried, dropping the gun and trying to catch her. A large, angry red splotch was forming on her night-gown. Scarlett caught her breath.

"Stand back, and let go of her," Thad ordered. He no longer sounded like a boy, or like the cheerful companion of her Colorado exile. This was someone else entirely. "There's nothing you can do to help her anymore. But you still have to answer for Tasha."

Thomas rose painfully, his cheeks wet with tears. "I ...didn't mean to kill her. I never wanted to kill anyone. I was never very good at shooting in the first place. But mother ...she said shooting is men's work. That I needed to revenge my brother and sister. It's all I ever heard about, growing up. How we would revenge ourselves on Rhett Butler one day for all he did to our family. So when Dad passed away last year, we went to look for work that was close to you, where we could find out information. Mother didn't want to kill you," he said, looking directly at Rhett. "She wanted you to feel in your own heart what you had done to us. But you didn't have a son, or so we thought. I tried telling her that you'd already ...lost a child, that God had punished you enough without our help. But she wouldn't listen. Said a riding accident wasn't the same as having a child murdered. Then we found out..."

"Found out what," Scarlett asked. Her mind was still a blur. Elsa wasn't Elsa, and Thomas was ...

"Belle told him Thad is a Butler," Rhett drawled softly. "By which he surmised he is my son."

"Belle told him that?"

"Indeed." Rhett replied conversationally. From his tone, they could have all been next door in their drawing room, discussing a comedy of questionable taste over a glass of bandy. "Your friend Thomas here has been having a ...relationship ...with Belle. The kind of relationship during which one reveals the more intimate aspects of one's life. It was common knowledge that Belle ...had a lot of information about me, and our partners in crime believed having Thomas get to know Belle would be the fastest way to find my weak spot. And it seemed they'd struck gold when they learned about Thad. Unfortunately, it never occurred to him to ask which Butler it was that sired Thad, and perhaps Belle wanted him to believe Thad was mine, for her own reasons. At any rate, Thomas was the mystery person with a key to the establishment that was never mentioned to the police. Belle never suspected Thomas would want to hurt Thad. He was her lover, and she trusted him, so she saw no reason to expose him, or their affair. Thankfully, she confessed all to me in the weeks before we left Atlanta, which greatly helped us in putting the story together."

Scarlett's head was spinning. So Belle's fires hadn't been out entirely, she thought wrily. Not quite.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, miserably. He looked like a young boy now, lost and bereft of his mother's iron will.

"That isn't good enough," Thad muttered. "Sorry" won't bring Tasha back. It's not Uncle Rhett's fault that that damned buggy broke down, or that your dammed half-brother was stupid enough to challenge him to a duel. And it's not Tasha's fault that you weren't able to stand up to a deranged old woman who should have been put away in a lunatics asylum decades ago." He exhaled, almost as if releasing a sob. "But it ends here."

He lifted his gun, and Thomas blanched even more. But he stood his ground.

"Don't shoot," Rhett said, softly. "When you're as old as me, you will realize that taking a life - whether in anger, or for revenge, or in war - changes you forever. When I was your age, I didn't believe it. I didn't believe it for long afterwards. But now, the ghosts haunt me." His teeth flashed in the pale light. "I see the darkie I shot - the Yankees I killed in the war - the unborn child that I lost through cruel words - and even this poor sod's brother. They all come to visit me. I expect his mother will be joining them soon. They fill my dreams with specters. It's no way to live, my boy. I've made my choices, and I have to live with them every day. You still have a choice. Don't go there."

"I don't care," Thad said, coldly. "I'll welcome his ghost. I'll tell 'im over and over how glad I am I shot him for taking away my Tasha."

He lifted his gun again, and from the cold determination on his face, Scarlett knew that nothing and no one would stop him now. Thomas must have seen it, too, for his head sank, and his lips started moving as if in silent prayer.

Then the world stopped.

Wade Hampton Hamilton dropped his gun to the ground with a clang, and stepped in front of Thomas. "Don't shoot him," the boy said, in a thin, high voice.

"Move out of the way, Wade."

The boy shook his head with determination. "You told me when we were hunting to never shoot an animal unless it was for food, or to save my life. You 'specially told me never to shoot from fear, or if I'm mad."

"Wade," Scarlett called out, terrified. She wasn't afraid Thad would shoot Wade - not really - but anything might happen in a room full of loaded weapons. Rhett stepped closer to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed to have stopped breathing, so still was he. As if he were afraid even a loud breath might shatter the scene.

"Move away, Wade," Thad hissed. "You don't understand. This isn't rabbit-hunting. This is men's work. It's a matter of honor. It's no business of yours."

"Remember what else you told me? About Tasha? How nice she was. How she'd catch bugs trapped in her room, an' carry them outside to the grass instead of stompin' on them." Wade's luminious eyes were looking at Thad with months of pent-up hero-worship. "Thomas didn't mean to kill her. It was an accident. His mother messed up his mind until he couldn't think. And Tasha didn't believe in killing. She wouldn't have wanted him to die, too, not like this. There's no honor in it."

"Step aside, Wade."

Wade shook his head. He kept staring at Thad.

And after what seemed like an eternity, Thad lowered his gun. Rhett exhaled. Scarlett ran forward, and threw her arms around her son, shivering with relief. He tolerated her embrace briefly, then twisted away. "Mother."

There was a rap on the door. Rhett gestured to Pork. "The police has arrived."

~~o~~

Three hours later, the police had left with the prisoner and the body. Thad and Wade were back in their rooms. Ella had slept through all of it, not even awakening when Wade, Scarlett and Rhett trooped back upstairs just before six in the morning. Scarlett had felt torn between the need to tuck Wade in like a child, or debrief him like a soldier, but in the end, she did neither. She smiled at him, and pushed back a lock of his hair in wordless benediction.

She kissed his forehead, and turned back only once before she closed the door behind her.

When he sleeps, she thought, he still looks like a boy.

* * *

_So there it is! Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews and ideas. All of you had excellent thoughts about where the story was going. Most of you already knew who the murderers were. But special shout-out to Coco B, who first suggested out loud that the crime might have been planned by several people, and to sohhkb, who pretty much nailed the entire subtext of the last chapter. _

_GWTW (that I could find) never clearly says that the brother died, but since dueling was legal, and even encouraged, in Charleston until the 1880s, I figure he must have been dead, that everyone was upset enough about the event that Rhett had to leave._

_There are still a lot of questions left unanswered. First and foremost: Why was Rhett so mean to Scarlett? Why didn't he tell her about the plot. And then ...now what?_


	19. Wait And Hope

_Until the day when God will deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is contained in these two words,—'Wait and hope.'"_

_-Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo_

* * *

He was standing in the middle of the room when she slowly opened the door, seemingly lost in thought. Only the guns that lay on the sideboard – his own, and the ones he had collected from Pork and the boys, now unloaded - remained as a tangible reminder of the nightmare they had just lived though.

Outside the confinements of the house, the morning had arrived with all its glory, and the blue vastness of the Gulf glimmered through the half-opened curtains. The sea appeared eerily quiet, the foam only tiny dots of white on the endless blue, as if a haphazardly child had experimented with oils and a small brush on a vast tapestry.

The beauty of the scene was lost on Scarlett. "Rhett," she said softly. She walked up to him, her green eyes scanned his face hungrily, as if she still did not believe he was real. "You came back."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she cursed herself for their inadequacy.

"I never really left."

At her bewildered expression, he continued, "When I left you that day, I sailed over to the mainland, into the mouth of the river, where I swapped boats with a buddy of mine, and was back in Galveston Harbor by nightfall. I've spent the last two weeks incognito at Uncle Henry's house across the street, listening to him charming the widows and spinsters of Galveston in the room next door."

Fatigue was in his face as he spoke to her, and levity born of triumph, and a remnant of the savagery of battle. He flashed a smile. "Don't tell Henry I said so, but I haven't been forced to endure so much tedious prattle since I last left Charleston. Flirtation always appears dull when one isn't the person engaging in it. By God, I believed I was going insane. "

Comprehension flooded her face, as she finally pieced together several facts that had puzzled her. "So that's why….."

"Yes," he nodded. "That's why Henry and I chose those particular establishments. We wanted two houses facing each other, with one of them having only street-side entryways, so the access could be monitored easily. We've all taken turns at watch. Henry and I watched the street at night, and Pork , James and Thad took turns watching the stairway from the inside."

Scarlett's confusion gave way to sudden anger. "Who else was in on this plan, Rhett? Besides Uncle Henry? And Thad? And Pork?", she cried. "Now I finally understand! _Why_ Pork and Dilcey came along! Why Uncle Henry suddenly developed a taste for adventure, when he was doing just fine in Atlanta all his life! And why James wanted his wife and baby to stay behind at Tara!"

Her fury escalated as her tired brain began to comprehend the enormity of what he had done. "And my _son_! I can't believe you gave Wade a gun! You involved a child, my child, in something that could have gotten him killed! Without even having the decency of consulting me, his mother! Now I understand what you and Thad were doing in Colorado, when you taught him to shoot. If only I'd known, I'd have put a stop to it!"

Rhett sighed. "He's hardly a child anymore, Scarlett. Having a real, adult responsibility has done wonders for him. And he never did any shifts alone, even though we sometimes let him think so. Thad, James or Pork were always available as back-up."

Scarlett was not mollified. "Who else knew, Rhett?"

He looked at her for a moment. "I've been working closely with Chief Parker in Atlanta and Sheriff Brooks here in Galveston. We felt sure we had the whole story pieced together fairly accurately, but we lacked proof. And I wasn't willing to wait. I wanted to get all of you out of Atlanta as soon as possible. The Peachtree Mansion was too difficult to protect, and I wasn't certain how much support our enemies had managed to garner from the locals. There was a family of darkies who ….At any rate, I wanted the standoff to happen on a terrain I controlled. And I didn't want to spend years of our lives with a sword hanging over our heads, waiting around for our foes to make their next move." His dark face glowed in the harsh light. "Chief Parker wasn't thrilled about my decision, but even he had to admit we lacked other options, and that the police was unable to guarantee our safety. So I made what I hoped was an informed decision about who was trustworthy, and laid out my plan to them."

"Who knew?" She asked again, ominously.

"The police in both cities. Henry Hamilton. Belle. Dr. Harrison. Tony Fontaine. Wade. And everyone with access to the house who came along knew of my plan. Except our partners in crime, and Ella, of course."

"And me." she hissed. She whirled around, hugging her arms against her chest. She stared at the wall. He had hurt her, hurt her immeasurably. She didn't want to see him anymore.

"And you." He took two steps closer to her, but she refused to turn around. When she said nothing, he continued, softly. "Can't you see, Scarlett, that I couldn't tell you? In order to draw them out, my departure had to be believable. You, my love, could never hide your feelings under the best of circumstances, never mind under severe emotional strain. Vera would have known immediately that something was up."

He tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. "Scarlett- can't you see that the most dangerous part of my plan was that Vera might decide _you_ were in fact a much better target than Thad? _That_ was the possibility that kept me up at night, the one thing I was most afraid of. So I had Dilecy inform Vera (in strictest confidence of course) that I'd been cruel and unkind to you, and had never really cared about anyone, except Thad and Bonnie - and that you'd finally gotten fed up with me, and sent me away. And I made sure to speak sharply to you whenever I saw her skulking in the background, trying to eavesdrop on us. Your demeanor had to match that report, or it would have all been for nothing. " Scarlett refused to look at him. "When Thomas arrived, Henry Hamilton made sure Thomas was lodged with one of his female friends, who would report anything suspicious to Henry." There was a sudden echo of mirth in his voice, which caused Scarlett to stiffen further. "Initially, Henry's wooing of the widows and spinsters was part of our plan. It gave us eyes and ears all over Galveston. Now, I'm afraid, he enjoys it for it's own sake. Too much, if you ask me."

She glowered in response.

"In the meantime, Thad moved to a different room in the house that appeared easy to access, and away from the others. He had Thomas help with the moving of the furniture, so our would-be-assassin would feel familiar with the layout of the house and the new bedroom, giving him confidence he could find his way in the dark. Dilcey filled Vera's ears with my depravities, real and invented, and made sure to imply that Thad was cut from similar cloth. She also told her, in even stricter confidence, that Thad would soon leave Galveston as well, to join me to travel the world, in a life of never-ending, gleeful dissipation. Thankfully, that was sufficient to motivate her to strike." Rhett grinned again. "The world lost a great actress in Dilcey. I almost laughed tears the first time she practiced her role with Thad and me. And there's equally good stage blood in the Hamilton line. Henry and Wade were flawless, and I remember Melanie Wilkes was quite commandeering during the Shanty Town raid that led to …."

"I'm glad you find all of this so amusing," Scarlett replied icily. "I'm glad your little plan worked. I'm glad Elsa – I mean, Vera – won't be able to hurt us anymore. I'm glad you didn't get my son killed, or any of us, by playing cowboy, or sheriff, or whatever it was you thought you had to be." She turned away from him with what she hoped looked like icy coldness. "Perhaps you could leave, now. If not to London, or Paris, then at least to a different room. I need to sleep."

"Scarlett." He said, gently. "I never really intended to go anywhere. Do you really think I'd drag you halfway across the country, away from Tara, and your entire support, just to abandon you in a strange place, after just a few months?"

"You had no problem leaving me the night my best friend died."

He winced. "Touché. I deserved that. But …."

"And you kept talking about feeling trapped by duty, and obligations. What was I supposed to think? I told you again and again that I don't want that. I'd rather you …."

"Scarlett." He turned her around forcefully, and took her nerveless hands in his. She tried pulling them away, but he tightened his grip, refusing to let her go. "Sit." He pulled her, resisting, to the settee. "When I spoke about feeling trapped, I wasn't talking about being trapped by you. I meant I was trapped like a protagonist in a Greek tragedy, in a narrative that had begun a long time ago - where all paths have already been predetermined, and lead to an undesirable outcome. Now, my love, I know you've managed to avoid Greek tragedies successfully, so you'll have no idea what I mean."

"You're quite right," she replied, heatedly. "I don't understand a word you're saying, Rhett Butler, and I don't want to hear anything else about tragedies! All I know is that you don't love me, and never will, and that I can't live with a man that stays with me only because of ….whatever it is you were staying for. Even if you're going to be nice again, now." She sniffled, audibly. He dug into his pocket, and gravely handed her his handkerchief. She took it, and dabbed at her eyes.

"Scarlett, you have every right to expect an explanation, and I promise you we'll discuss our ….situation, but not right now. We're both exhausted beyond belief. I haven't had a decent night's sleep in months, and very little over the last two weeks. We should go to bed, and rest."

She glared balefully in his direction. Did he really think he could just waltz back into her life, after it had nearly killed her to let him go – and crawl back into her bed, as if nothing had happened?

The practical side of her – the side that saw the wisdom of his decision – won out.

"All right," she murmured, "but sleep is all we'll be doing."

He grinned suddenly, pulling her close, and kissing her soundly before she could gather her wits enough to protest. "There _is_ that temptation when you have cheated death, and triumphed over your foes – to celebrate life." When he felt her attempt to twist away, he laughed harder. "No? The vision of the returning hero softens your heart no more than the thought of the gallant patriot who is off to the wars? Fie, Mrs. Butler." At her darkening glare, he grinned even more broadly. "Alas, it will have to keep, then."

He released her, and she tried to tell herself she was not disappointed. She watched him shrug himself out of his clothes and into his sleepwear, which had remained in the same spot under his pillow where he had left it, even though the sheets had been changed. He didn't comment on it. He pulled the curtains, and the room became dark and dim.

She slipped into bed beside him, without touching him. She tried not to think of his closeness, so her treacherous body wouldn't be tempted to give into him again. She heard him rustle and move, which she felt he did on purpose to increase her discomfort. She thought she felt the brush of a hand at her shoulder at some point, but it might have been no more than her overactive mind. The images of the night descended upon her, and she shuddered. Finally, she fell into a restless sleep.

~~o~~

Some hours later, she awoke to find herself alone. She rang for Dilcey to help her dress, and after a few minutes, her maid arrived, bearing a tray with tea.

"The others are downstairs eating breakfast, or lunch, if you will, Miz Scarlett. They're askin' if you want to join them".

Scarlett glowered at Dilcey. "You lied to me, too."

Dilcey didn't pretend not to understand."I had to, Miz Scarlett. We had to stop Elsa from hurtin' anyone. And you, Miz Scarlett, meanin' no disrespect, ain't none too good at hidin' wut you feel."

She nimbly closed the lace of the corset that Scarlett had taken to wearing again, now that she was once more in polite society. Scarlett frowned at the words, the same words that Rhett had said to her earlier. Coming from Dilcey, they were somehow easier to accept.

She sighed. She allowed Dilcey to pull a green dress of watered silk over her head, marveling again at how much better, and healthier, she looked than only a few months ago in Atlanta. She swept her hair into a simple bun, deciding neither her lips or her cheeks were in need of additional color. Then, she descended the stairway, pausing for several heartbeats when she passed the scene of last night's crime. She entered the dining room, and found Rhett, Thad and Wade with Uncle Henry.

They looked up when they came in, and she started slightly at the expression on their faces. Uncle Henry's old, whiskered face, Rhett's swarthy pirate visage, Thad and Wade's young, unlined ones …wore identical expressions that she couldn't quite put into words. She finally fell back on the ones she had used to describe how Rhett had looked earlier this morning: _Fatigue, and levity born of shared triumph, and a remnant of the savagery of battle._

Dilcey had laid out a festive spread, both in celebration of the removal of their foes, and as a way of demonstrating her competent reacquisition of the kitchen. Scarlett murmured her good morning, and sat down next to Rhett, feeling as if she were interrupting something. She experienced a moment's regret for Elsa's cakes, and then told herself not to be silly. To be thinking of Elsa's cakes on a day such as this?

"Where's Ella?" she asked, spreading butter and jam on her toast, and looking around for the only member of the household that had gotten up at a reasonable hour.

"Mrs. Elsingston has her in the playroom," Henry replied. "They're studying the declaration of independence, after pumping me for almost twenty minutes. Apparently, the news of the arrest has already flown fast and furious around the town. But we've managed to spread a very admirable story of midnight heroics and a deranged pair of criminals apprehended just in the nick of time." He winked at Scarlett. "I'm happy to report my own standing in Galveston Society is improving as we speak."

She smiled back at Uncle Henry. He'd been part of the deception, but he'd made this long and dangerous journey to protect her and her family, and she couldn't be angry at him. She was happy, even, that he really seemed to have found a new lease on life out here in the west.

"Anyone special in whose eyes you wish to be particularly elevated?" she teased.

"Well, there _is _a charming widow by the name of Emma Winwood," he confided in a half-whisper, his eyes sparkling. "She's the brave, good lady who offered to house Thomas, and report on his comings and goings.

"Oh no," broke in Rhett, with comical dismay. "Not the lady who can spend an hour or more discussing her two cats. She visited Henry's abode every day faithfully at four o'clock, and I had to listen to her simpering, hidden in the guest room. Her discourse made me wish to save Vera the trouble of doing away with me. "

"None other! She was delighted to help. She said it made her feel quite like _Old Sleuth_ out of the dime novels!"

"Her taste in literature is also rather deplorable."

"Speak for yourself," Uncle Henry retorted comfortably. "Scarlett here hasn't cracked open a book since finishing school, and even then I bet it was reluctantly. And I never saw that diminish her charm in your eyes."

"Well, Scarlett …." he roved his dark eyes over the lady in question.

Scarlett blushed. Whether it was from embarrassment over her lack of literacy, or from the implication that she still had charm in Rhett's eyes, only she would know.

"Scarlett …. has compensating qualities."

Only Rhett could make such a neutral term, spoken in a completely bland tone, sound like a most indecent insinuation. Scarlett glowered at him.

"Perhaps Mrs. Winwood does, as well," Henry parried cheerfully, not missing a beat.

"Henry!"

"What? I only said ….."

Scarlett sighed. The boys had finished eating, and were listening to the adults with obvious interest. "Thad, take Wade and go do …..something. As long as it's away from here. I'll catch up with you later."

As soon as they'd left, she turned back to the men. "And as for you two …. I'll remind you that it hasn't been but a few hours that we've all head guns pointed at our heads! Perhaps you could discuss the qualities of various ladies when I'm out of earshot, because right now, I'm not in the mood." She glanced pointedly at her husband. "And if you remember, you'd promised me a walk by the seashore, to see the _gulls_."

She shot him a cloyingly sweet smile. He'd had the upper hand so long, walking in and out of her life as he pleased, and she was _done_. If he intended to stay this time, it would only be with a commitment, and an explanation of how he felt about her. One that didn't include "duty," and "obligation."

"How could I forget," he smiled back at her. "The …..gulls it is."

They both arose together, leaving Dilcey and Pork to clear the table.

"James is asking if he can go get Prissy and Cherry, now that things are safe"; Dilcey asked before they left.

Scarlett paused. "Tell him to wait for now."

Dilcey threw her a questioning look, but did not enquire further.

~~o~~

Rhett held her coat, the October winds being chilly at times. Together, they walked through the quiet streets to the seashore only minutes away. The ocean was still as calm and quiet as it had been that morning, and the horizon seemed endlessly far away.

For half an hour they walked without speaking, until Scarlett suddenly veered to the right, onto a small pathway into the dunes. A small, natural cove opened before their feet. Sea grass obliterated them from sight, and someone had built a small, wooden bench out of driftwood that Scarlett headed towards, and lowered herself upon. She drew a sharp breath to gather her courage.

"This is it, Rhett", she murmured, softly. They were protected from the winds, encased in a curious, hallow silence.

"This is what?" he laughed. "The place for the second stand-off of the day? I'll admit the backdrop for this one is much more picturesque."

"Stand-off?" she asked, in some confusion. Then she sighed, determined not to let him side-track her. "You promised me last night we would ….discuss our situation in more detail. So here I am."

"Better, Scarlett. It's always advisable to invite your opponent to speak first. We may, in time, make a poker player out of you yet."

As usual, she had no idea what he meant. "Rhett…"

"Remember what I told you, just before I left two weeks ago? That you should look at people's actions, not their words? If you subtract the unkind things I said to you, which you now know were done for Vera's benefits, what did my _actions_ tell you?"

She colored. He laughed, and sat down on the wooden bench next to her, facing her.

"Yes, they did indeed tell you I desire you. I admit it freely and without shame. Were you able to discern anything else?"

She shook her head, keeping her chin tucked against her chest and her eyes downcast. He stretched out his hand, and forced her to look back up.

"No? No hint of female intuition, even after all these years?" he teased. "You didn't see that I love you, Scarlett?"

The green eyes flew up and opened widely in disbelief.

He smiled. "It's true though. I fell back in love with you the day you showed up at Belle's, dressed as a maid, leading a Yankee surgeon by the leash. What a grand, suicidal gesture! Oh, I admit I struggled with admitting it to myself, but after our first night together, I could not longer hide from myself.

"But…."

"Why did I not tell you? Blurting out my deepest feelings has never been my way, Scarlett. And it turned out to be advantageous that I held my tongue, since I needed you to be somewhat unaware in order to execute the plot against Elsa."

She stiffened. And when she looked at him again, she saw his gaze was still on hers, with a hint of melancholy now marring his features. "I do love you. So that part of the pat speech that I gave you in Atlanta over a year ago no longer holds. As for the rest….."

He rose from the bench, and took two steps into the dunes, before turning around and facing her again. "There are still the broken things, Scarlett. The damage we have done to each other, the things that we said, the losses ….. the grief..….the whole past with all of its mistakes. What we went through this summer was only a taste, because I at least was still at war, in a sense, and you …..you were unsure of how I felt, and as a result, suppressed some of your own anger and pain. Once we live together again as man and wife …..that will change."

"But…"

"Let me finish", he said softly. "I realize I gave you a misleading impression when I spoke about Greek tragedies. You, my dear, will always focus on the obvious. No, don't turn away, I'm not trying to insult you. It's a strength of sorts, not to get bogged down by the metaphysical or the abstract. What I meant was …."

He paused again. "Scarlett, I've always believed I was a free agent. I made the decision early to break away from the code of the South that my birth, and lineage, wanted to imprint on me. I believed myself to be a reengage, a pathfinder, a trailblazer. Most of all, I believed myself to be _free_. Only recently did I realize I was under just as binding a narrative as I would have been had I followed all the dictates of my upbringing - just of a different sort." He sat back down next to her, and gazed into her wide, expressive eyes. "If I had to go back in time to do it all over again, I would still refuse to marry Amelia. I would still be thrown out of Charleston after killing her brother. Given who I was, who I am – my personality, the circumstances of my birth, the society I was born into – the tragedy of Amelia's ruin, John's death, and my expulsion were all but inevitable. The characters in the story cannot change _who they are _to make different choices, and the circumstances around them cannot change either. That, my dear, is the essence of Greek tragedy."

Scarlett lowered her lashes. "Next time, you could try a calmer horse. Or, you know, stick to the road."

He laughed out loud. "But you see, Scarlett, that's exactly the point. The Rhett Butler of those years never drove calm horses, or stuck to the road. It was inevitable that I would get myself into a fix, sooner or later."

"But…."

"What the hell does this mean for us," he drawled, reading her with ease. "Patience, my dear. I am getting to that part now. Under my narrative, I would still wed you, hurt you, and be hurt by you, and leave you, believing myself justified. Except that then pesky narrative will intervene again. It reminded me I cannot leave Wade and Ella – or even a woman who has made such great, unselfish sacrifices for me as you did, when you rescued Thad. Nor would it allow me to leave you alone in the face of a danger that I myself created many many years ago. That was what I meant when I said I was stuck."

"You can't, perhaps, but I can," she suddenly interrupted. "In fact, I did."

"Yes. You're the deux ex machina in this story, Scarlett – doing something your own narrative didn't script for. And believe me, I appreciate it. But unfortunately, while you can set me free from my obligations to you, now that your safety is no longer at stake, you can't set me free from the obligations to Wade or Ella. Or from ….." His gaze had become intent.

She flushed deeply, and there were tears in her eyes. "How did you know?"

"I know your body very well after all these months, Scarlett. The changes were impossible to miss. But don't think I didn't appreciate the grandeur of your gesture – hiding the one thing that would ensure I'd be bound to you forever, and still telling me to go find peace."

She was crying now. "I never wanted you to know. Or to come back because…."

He smiled. "As I've said, it wasn't just that, Scarlett. Nor is it even about duty, or honor. It's simply that, for me, there is no other path."

She shook her head like a wild pony. "I don't want that."

"I do love you. Doesn't that make a difference?"

She hesitated. "Yes. But tell me something Rhett … if it weren't for your narrative…if you were truly free, like you thought before - if it was just you, making a choice about …..us …knowing that you love me, knowing what happened in the past….. would you stay, or go?"

Again, that deep, hallowing silence, the hesitation, the debate whether a comfortable lie would be kinder, in the long run, then the truth. "I don't know."

All that was young and fierce within her wanted to press him. Instead, she lifted her green eyes one last time to the horizon, before turning them back inwards. They were limpid and green, like rain in spring.

"Let's go home."

* * *

There it is, except, maybe, for an epilogue. I can't believe it's over. Thank you for your reviews and thoughts. I want to give a special shout-out to Sanjo67, who totally nailed the queries I posed in the last chapter, almost down to the last detail. The chapter quote is for Sanjo. Also shout-out to LMS, who picked up on why Elsa refused to speak German.

I welcome your thoughts on the ending. Did it work?


	20. Epilogue - The Sins of the Fathers

_ Then the Lord passed by in front of him and proclaimed, "The Lord, the Lord God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in loving kindness and truth; who keeps loving kindness for thousands, who forgives iniquity, transgression and sin; yet He will by no means leave the guilty unpunished, visiting the iniquity of fathers on the children and on the grandchildren to the third and fourth generations."_

_- Exodus 34:_7

* * *

„Rose".

The young girl who stood by the bay windows of the tower tea room did not turn around when he called her. He walked closer to her, but stopped a few paces behind her.

He did not touch her.

„Your mother says to come down. Everyone is already on the boat. Ella, Perry, Daniel, and Baby. We're just waiting for you."

She paused for another heartbeat, then swiveled around to face him. She couldn't have been more than fourteen years old, with an an untamable mop of black curls seemingly too heavy for the delicate head. Her eyes were corn-flower blue, her spiky lashes full and dark, and her features a carbon copy of her mother's, and her long-lost sister's. Inside, she was her father's child.

"I _did_ want to stay," she offered, with just a twist of irony, hiding a maelstrom of emotions under a blasé smirk. "However, Uncle Henry informs me that they don't emancipate girls of my age in Texas, so I gather I've run out of legal options."

He knew enough to smile. "We would miss you if you stayed in Texas, Rose."

"Mother would. And Perry, and Daniel. Perhaps even Uncle Henry, for he did say he had acquired quite an affection for me," she reported gravely. Then she curled the right corner of her mouth again, a bitter, unconscious echo. "You, however ...I'm not so sure."

He blinked, and then exhaled. They didn't have time for this. But something told him this was one of _those_ moments, those irretrievable, potentially life-changing moments, that Scarlett and he had missed all too often in the past. And that conviction kept him rooted to the spot. "Rose," he asked suddenly, with genuine curiosity, as if he were talking to a much older woman: "How have we come to this?"

The unfamiliar tone, not jesting, not ambivalent, made her stare. Then she shrugged. "Don't ask me. There's never been anything I could do about it, though there were times - a long time ago, mind you - where I wanted your approval, and tried everything to win it. I soon learned it was pointless." She shrugged. "I wasted too much time debating whether you couldn't bear me because you'd feel disloyal to Bonnie if you loved me, or if you've simply been too hardened by life to love anyone. I guess it's the former. You _do_ love mother, as much as you love anyone. Perhaps even the big kids. And Peregrine, and Daniel, and Baby Gerry. Although that's easy, isn't it, _Daddy_, because they're boys."

He blinked again at the word, from those lips, in that face, as if stung. She grinned again, mirthlessly. "You can't even bear to her me call you Daddy, after all those years."

_Dr. Harrison had arrived from Atlanta several weeks before Scarlett's due date in the company of his wife to assist with the delivery. Rhett had been worried about possible complications from Scarlett's miscarriage, even though the pregnancy had been entirely uneventful up to that point. Scarlett had been radiant, happy, overjoyed to give him another child. It had been the culmination of all her dearest wishes, the cherry on top of a marriage that was still not easy, never easy, but finally filled to the brim with love._

_He himself had started drinking as soon as the labor set in, and continued until, not very many hours later, the doctor arrived with a small bundle in his arm. "Congratulations, my dear friend. It was the easiest delivery I ever had the pleasure to attend. Your wife is resting nicely," he reported, the pale eyes briefly touching Rhett's puffy face. Then he added, softly. "You have a daughter."_

_ Rhett stared at her. A mop of dark hair, eyes the color of cornflowers, and a face just like ….._

_"Take her away," he said, hoarsely. "I can't stand it."_

_The other man stretched out his hand. "Rhett….." He hadn't heard him. He'd stumbled out of the room, out of the house. Away._

_Several hours later, William Harrison had found him in the local tavern, nursing his third glass of scotch. He was obviously on his way to become roaringly, blindingly drunk._

_"You need to come home. Now."_

_The blood-shot eyes barely lifted their hanging lids. "I can't"._

_"You must," William Harrison said, gently. "I told Scarlett you were overcome with emotions, but that you'd be there to see her shortly. She doesn't yet know you've left the house. I'd rather she never knew. If you disappoint her now, you may undo all the progress of the last year, and you may never gain back her trust." He shook his friend's shoulder gently. "I don't profess to understand how hard it must be for you. Scarlett told me the baby looks just like the daughter you lost, which is why I wanted you to meet her without anyone else present. But I do know that you need to take command of yourself, and come home, for the sake of your wife, and your child."_

_"I can't", he said again. "How can I face Scarlett when I can't even bear to look at the child?"_

_"You must." Icy finality had replaced the gentleness in the doctor's tone. "And if you don't, I will enlist the help of James, Pork and Thad to bring you home against your will, kicking and screaming. You will not disappoint Scarlett again if I can help it."_

_Rhett smiled a drunken smile. "You'd probably go through with the threat."_

_"I would."_

_"All right, then," he muttered, and arose, swaying precariously. He still had no desire to see the child, but for Scarlett's sake, he knew he had to try. How could he let his phantoms mar her happiness? By the time they reached the house, the sea air had cleared up some of the cobwebs in his brain, and he was able to greet his wife and fawn over the baby in an almost convincing, conventional manner._

Now, more that fourteen years later, he stared into the same eyes. "Rose," he said softly, "I had no idea you cared about what sort of relationship we have. I always assumed we were, perhaps, too similar to get along, and that the feeling was mutual."

Rose made a scornful sound. "Right. Do keep telling yourself that. That it was a character mismatch. That it has nothing to do with the fact that I've been living in this house for over _fourteen years_ and, for every single second of that time you wished that _she _were here instead of me. "

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" she laughed, hollowly. "I've been living with the specter of a ghostly twin for so long that I can't even fathom being seen just for myself."

He made a motion with his hand, as if to ward off an invisible attacker.

"And now ….." she whispered…"I'm being taken away from everything I've ever known, to start over in a place _you_ may call home, but for me, might as well be on the moon. You'll expect me to be a débutante, to follow rules I have no respect for, with the goal to marry me off to a respectable Charleston gentleman who will want me to be nothing but a pretty, painted doll, and…"

"Wade will be there," he offered, ignoring the meat of her argument. "You know he said he'd transfer his law practice from Austin to Charleston, to be closer to us now that his wife is expecting their first child. And Henry will be there, with Auntie Emma, to help him set it up."

She tossed her head impatiently. "Yes, yes. And Ella will do the rounds with me, because Mother feels she'll be able to meet eligible suitors more easily under Aunt Rosemary's tutelage. The aunt I was named for, and that I've never met. Honestly, she sounds like a dead bore as well."

He looked down at her - the delicate face, more conventionally beautiful than that of her mother, due to the blending and softening of the square lines of the jaw. The stormy blue eyes, which flared with emotion in her perfectly bland face when she was angry, the only remaining window into her soul. He knew from experience it would only be a matter of time before they, too, would shut.

"Rose," he said softly. "You aren't wrong about ….some of the things you've accused me of. I don't know how to defend it." He offered her a rueful smile, but it was an honest smile, and the corners of her mouth turned at his unexpected frankness." It would have been easier, perhaps, if you didn't look so damned much like her."

"I've often thought she sounded like terrible brat," she offered, with the same seeming levity.

"In a lot of ways, she was. Thanks to me."

She cocked her head. "Have _you _been happy?"

"Yes," he said, softly, but with conviction. "Happier than I expected, happier perhaps than I deserved. Perhaps I bought my happiness at the expense of yours …..transferring my feelings of pain, of guilt, and ambiguity onto you, so your mother wouldn't have to carry them. So I could simple _be_ with her, without all the baggage." He ran a large hand through his still thick, dark hair. "I'm sorry, Rose. That it was unconsciously done is no excuse."

"Sorry" isn't terribly helpful," she said heavily, and he winced at the fatigue in her voice.

"I know," he said, softly, stepping very close to her. "Many many years ago, I had a very similar conversation with your mother, only I was on the other end of it. I refused to forgive her for past transgressions, and we all – Scarlett, Wade, Ella, and I – had to endure a lot of agony before things were righted. I have no right to ask you to be much wiser than I was, but I'm hoping you will be, because you're so much smarter, and much more insightful, than I ever was at your age. Or at any age, honestly."

He smiled at her, and she felt the blast of his charm.

"I don't know," she murmured, unwilling to be won over so quickly.

He reached out his hand, and lifted her chin, and as he looked into her eyes he saw only her. "Could we perhaps try again? Be a real father and daughter, and try to understand and get to know each other? I'll teach you to raise hell in Charleston in a good way, and we'll see about marrying you to someone worthy of you, or if you don't want that, I'll take you to Europe for medical school, or your mother can train you to run her stores. You can even go back to Texas at some point and take over one of Thad's ranches, if Charleston is really too tame for your taste in the long run. " He caught her blush, and he grinned. "Oh. It's like that, is it? Don't tell your mother. I believe she's against cousins marrying, and she's got her heart set on wedding you to Southern Nobility."

She blushed even more fiercely. "It's not like he knows I _exist. _Not in that way, I mean_."_

"My dear, in only a year or two there won't be a man alive who doesn't know you exist, once he meets you. You do take after your mother in some ways."

She grinned in spite of herself. "At least he's speaking to you again. Mother said he wasn't at all happy when that criminal that almost killed you all disappeared from jail one night, before he could be hung. They all think you had something to do with it, even if the police felt he acted alone."

"I'll never tell," he smirked. "But I _will_ tell you there's a very diligent young man busy in a Boston law office as we speak, working for Negro rights and literacy at a very low pay. Has been doing so for many years. Really loves his work, too, he tells me."

She lowered her lashes in a way so familiar he almost laughed. "Really."

"Yes. After all, good deeds are their own reward. But with regards to your renegade cousin, I'd have thought you'd have fallen for someone slightly closer to you in age."

"Like you and mother?"

He shook his head in mock incredulity. "Tsk tsk. You were always a cheeky little minx. One other quality you get from your mother." He lightly pinched her cheek, and then held out his hand. The blue eyes glared at him once more, before they softened, and she put her small hand in his. "No promises," she said, gravely. "I'm only agreeing to try."

Together, they walked out of the house without looking back.

When they reached the harbor, he put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close to him to shield her from the sharp wind. Her body stiffened briefly, before she relaxed against him, and let him guide her up into the boat. Scarlett greeted them with impatience. "Where have you ….." she stopped, seeing father and daughter standing so close to each other, his arm wrapped protectively around her small frame.

Unexpected tears shot into in her eyes. "Are you finally ready?" she asked, gruffly, trying to hide her emotions.

"Yes," her husband replied, firmly. His eyes took in his wife, lanky Ella, Peregrine and Daniel, his eight-year old twins, and sturdy little Gerald, who was still called "Baby" in spite of being all of five years old.

Perry came running up. "A seagull _pooped_ on Daniel's shoe," he grinned. His father laughed. Then he kissed Rose on her dark, billowing hair, and reached for his wife with his free arm, drawing her close, before giving signal to the boatsman to release the ropes.

The Butlers were ready to go home.

* * *

This is it! For LMS, master researcher extraordinaire. For DixieCross, my sister in ambiguity. For HelenSES, who always has an encouraging word at the right time. For Amaranta, the Melodys, and all the other wonderful writers on this site whose stories so often brighten my day. And for all the readers that gave so freely with thoughts, feedback, and inspiration, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I couldn't have finished without your encouragement.


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